


It's Still A Feeling

by orphan_account



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, Romance, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-28
Updated: 2015-06-28
Packaged: 2018-04-06 14:39:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 92,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4225698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What would you call this then, if it’s not love?” – Kyungsoo/Jongin</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to Amy and Addie for… well, basically everything. This story would be utter F-class shit without you guys, and now it’s upgraded to something more of a D-class or so. I really can’t thank you enough! Also to Larry, Ross, and Jill for being really supportive through all the hurdles! Thank you! To Google Maps, you are the love of my life.
> 
> I wanted to try something new, so I wrote about New York City in mostly Kyungsoo’s point of view. It’d been challenging for me, maybe a bit too challenging, that this might probably be the most… horrid thing I’ve ever written, but anyway, I hope you’ll enjoy! Constructive criticism is awesome! Hate comments are very much welcome as well, as long as they’re not aimed towards the real people I wrote about. It’s been really fun writing for the fandom, and thank you all for the wonderful experience!
> 
> This story is based on this [poem](http://alonesomes.tumblr.com/post/44152939484/do-not-fall-in-love-with-people-like-me-people). Please give the author lots of love! She rocks.

**Title:** It’s Still A Feeling  
**Summary:** “What would you call this then, if it’s not love?” – Kyungsoo/Jongin  
**Pairing:** Kyungsoo/Jongin  
**Genre:** Romance, slice of life, fluff, angst  
**Warnings:** Language, sexual themes, excessive drinking, homophobic themes, stupid plot holes

 

****

[Prologue]

 

****

  
  
  
The sky is threateningly blue on a Monday in March. The broken stoplight he passes by blinks red as the pedestrians hustle along the streets of New York City. Everything is always moving in the boroughs, impatient to jump from one spot to the next, with a single action triggering a slew of events in rapid succession that never fails to make Jongin dizzy. The wailing of a baby comes somewhere from the string of unimposing apartments, loud and clear even amid the constant city bustle.  
  
As he scurries along the sidewalk side less crowded with people, Jongin reaches over his messenger bag and looks over its contents, his hand blindly searching for the curve of his wallet. He pries the flaps of leather open and grimaces. He’s out of change for the subway. He turns to his wrist and bites back a curse when he realizes that his watch has stopped working.   
  
Jongin walks faster to the direction of the nearest street stall. He badly needs Washingtons in exchange for the Benjamins in his wallet. Judging from the frantic crowd gathering at the opposite street, he’s running late. He could take a taxi to school, but the cabbies almost always assume that Jongin doesn’t want his change when he hands them a hundred dollar bill for a measly thirty-minute drive.  
  
A cab drives by, taunting him, but Jongin lets it pass by and watches a man in a tailored suit chase it a few yards, his heavy briefcase slamming against his thigh as he runs. The tour bus of the American Museum of Natural History comes next, and Jongin waits for it to pass through before he crosses. In his hurry, there’s a pothole that he nearly misses, and he pauses under a scaffolding before moving again.  
  
With eyes still dazed and thoughts gnarled, Jongin gasps when he steps onto the next sidewalk and his left foot dives into something pebbly and sludge-like. He looks down and sees a mixture of cement up to his ankle, ruining the hem of the jeans he bought for New Year’s. His maroon sneaker is embedded deep, deep within.   
  
Only then does Jongin spots the caution sign that says ‘Under Construction.’  
  
He glares at the sky before running a hand through his hair. “Fuck,” he mumbles.  
  
Jongin slowly takes his foot away from the mold. Most of the cement clings to his shoe, some to his jeans, and he cringes at the feeling. As he finally removes his foot, splatters of grey start to harden between the nooks and crannies of his skin, papery and alarmingly dry.   
  
He searches for a towel in his bag, and angrily settles with ripping out a bunch of his grammar exams from his portfolio to remove the sludge, all the while crouching down on a safer, non-newly cemented area of the street.  
  
His foot is starting to throb with a dull pain, and Jongin tears up a little.  
  
“Monday morning is treating you well, I see.”  
  
Jongin’s ears perk up at the familiar sound of Korean words strung together, and he looks up to find a stranger’s face next to him. The man’s eyes are trained at the mess on Jongin’s foot, his lips pulled into a thin line. He’s must’ve guessed that they shared the same nationality from Jongin’s test papers with Hangeul written all over.  
  
Jongin grimaces before turning back to wiping the edge of his shoe. “Thanks for noticing,” he says, perhaps a bit harsher than he’s used to hearing himself say. With the edge of a paper, Jongin scrapes the skin under the fold of the denim and winces.  
  
Small, capable hands invade his space without warning. Jongin watches in surprise as the man uses a pale blue handkerchief to help him remove the cement. He gets a tiny glimpse of the man’s face—single lid eyes, lips quite full and plump—before he turns his gaze back to the ground and opts to watch the stranger’s hands instead.  
  
The man taps his elbow, and Jongin meets a pair of eyes the size of saucers.   
  
The stranger’s eyebrows are scrunched together. “There’s a convenience store over there,” the man tells him as he tilts his chin north. His fingers are firm on Jongin’s arm as he urges Jongin to stand up, his expression grave now. “They have a restroom. I’ll take you.”  
  
“You don’t—you don’t have to,” Jongin manages to stammer, but the man only gives him a wry look.  
  
In the end, Jongin follows him to the store. Jongin’s left foot is sore and aching as they walk a few blocks away from the disaster. The stranger doesn’t seem to mind the slow pace and only looks straight ahead, his expression unreadable under the morning sun. Once in a while, his hand lands on Jongin’s arm again, steadying him.  
  
The blonde girl behind the counter fails to hide her surprise at the sight of a limping Jongin and a man paying for a plastic bowl, a pack of gauze, and three rolls of paper towels; her gaze follows them as they head to the restroom at the back of the store. Jongin’s cheeks start to flame as a customer stares at them and at the wretched state of Jongin’s foot.   
  
The restroom is cramped with the two of them inside. The man takes off his coat, revealing a snug sweater. Jongin watches dumbly as he fills up the bowl with water from the tap, feeling tongue-tied.  
  
“Hey, would you hold up your foot for me?” the stranger says. His voice echoes inside the room, and Jongin is amazed at how it sounds, velvety and soothing.  
  
Some of the cement has already hardened, and Jongin takes off his shoe and stretches his leg with much difficulty. The man crouches and dips a couple of paper towels on the bowl and swipes it all over Jongin’s foot. The cold water makes Jongin hiss, and the man mutters a quick apology before he slips the wet towel underside.  
  
“You’re not wearing socks?” the man says. He sounds amused. “It’s cold.”  
  
“I hate socks,” Jongin answers. The man chuckles in response, and Jongin’s throat constricts.  
  
The restroom sure is hot. Sweat dribbles down Jongin’s back, soaking his shirt. The hands on his watch are unmoving still, but he’s definitely sure he’s late for class now.  
  
With nothing else to do, Jongin can only stare at the mop of straight, raven hair. The sound of trickling water on the bowl occasionally meshes with the sound of the stranger’s even breathing.  
  
There’s a sheen of sweat on the man’s upper lip, and his eyes glaze over Jongin’s foot with an odd intensity. Blood rushes north, and it pounds mercilessly in Jongin’s ears. A sudden warmth courses through Jongin as the man works the wet towels up to his ankle, nimble fingers washing away Jongin’s grudge against Monday mornings one by one. It’s silly, but Jongin’s throat constricts again, an unnamable emotion taking his heart by surprise.   
  
After he’s wrapped gauze around Jongin’s foot, the stranger stands. He’s about half a head shorter, and his pale face is glistening.   
  
“Thank you,” Jongin finally croaks out.  
  
The man’s eyes are wide and piercing as he stares back at Jongin until, slowly, his lips form an unusual heart-shaped smile. It makes his eyes crinkle and his face light up.  
  
Jongin feels lightheaded.  
  
The man discards the water from the bowl and hands Jongin a roll of the paper towel. He unlocks the door, and the cold air from the AC of the store whips Jongin on the face.   
  
“I’m no doctor, but you probably have a sprain,” the man says as he waits for Jongin to trudge out of the room. “You should have that checked. I would take you there, but I have a flight to catch. I’ll ask somebody to accompany you there instead.” He eyes the girl cashier, his lips pursing in thought.  
  
“Thank you,” Jongin says again, staring at his bandaged foot. “You—you didn’t have to…” He blushes. He doesn’t know what to say.  
  
Fingers lightly pat Jongin’s hand, making him look up. They’re at the last aisle of the store, surrounded by knick-knacks and packets of detergent, and the man’s grinning at Jongin again with that strange, heart-shaped smile, like he can hear the thundering pulse in Jongin’s wrist.  
  
“Don’t mention it, kid. Just take care of yourself,” the man replies. He holds up his hand in both greeting and farewell, and Jongin hesitantly takes it.


	2. [1/2]

**** 

[1/2]

 

****

“Anger. You’re supposed to feel anger,” Kyungsoo says. He rubs the bridge of his nose. There’s probably a vein starting to stick out of his forehead. Baekhyun would laugh if it pops, most likely.  
  
He flicks the pages of highlighted script dialogue he’s holding, waving the sheets with a frantic rustle in hopes he gets his point across. “You’re angry. You caught your wife sleeping with another man after getting your sweet ass kicked out of your day job and getting a parking ticket out of nowhere and—stop snickering and listen to me!”  
  
Baekhyun’s bleached hair explodes in different directions as he throws his head back in laughter again. The lights of the set strike the sequins on his shirt, making him look like a human disco ball, and Kyungsoo makes a mental note to scold Chanyeol for crafting another horrible get-up.  
  
Kyungsoo’s cheeks fume as Baekhyun grins at him. “Come on, Kyungsoo. You said we’re on break. The cameras aren’t rolling right now.”  
  
“We’re on break because you can’t pull it off,” Kyungsoo gripes. “We’ve rehearsed this more than twenty-five times! Junmyeon hyung’s exhausted as hell and he’s putting in more hours to pick up your slack.”  
  
Baekhyun chuckles even more. “That’s brisk. Hyung’s not exactly acting at his prime right now, either.”  
  
Kyungsoo glares at him, though Baekhyun still looks unrepentant. “We’re only through the third page, Baek. We have three more shots to film. Don’t make this hard for everyone.”  
  
“I’m not, I’m not! You still haven’t figured out how my mojo works, clearly. What went wrong in our staggering nine-year friendship, Soo?” Baekhyun says, and flashes him a lopsided grin when Kyungsoo bares his teeth. “Jesus Christ, you need to cool down. It’s basically your fault since you want to run the whole thing by yourself again.”  
  
Kyungsoo breathes through his mouth. He shoves the script on Baekhyun’s chest hard, but the actor doesn’t seem to be bothered at this and only smiles.  
  
“I knew it,” Baekhyun chimes, quirking a knowing eyebrow. He follows a scowling Kyungsoo as he slips through the glass doors, his shoes squeaking against the linoleum floor. “I fucking knew it. Is it pride again, Do Kyungsoo? Three grand for a dozen of pro-sumer cameras, and you still won’t take the bait?”  
  
They stop at the reference section of the set. The tapestries that Kyungsoo bought for fifteen dollars a yard on Fabric Store are carefully laid out on a set of chairs. Chanyeol’s bag is nowhere to be seen. Kyungsoo surmises that the older man went out to buy more aerosol cans.  
  
“I have to say, man. Your stubbornness is really admirable,” Baekhyun quips. He laughs when Kyungsoo sends him a glare again. “What a cranky little penguin. Alright, alright. Go get Sunyoung and Junmyeon. I think I’m ready to set my cheating wife’s eyebrows on fire.”   
  
Kyungsoo sighs. He waves at Sehun to call the rest of the crew. “Make this work, Baekhyun,” he says. He adjusts the straps of his wristwatch and tugs on it to make it tighter. “You know how tight we are on this project.”  
  
“That’s because it’s the only thing you ever talk about,” Baekhyun says with a light smack on his forearm. Kyungsoo doesn’t get to retaliate when the door slides open, and Sehun is back with the camera in hand.

****

  
  
On good days, Kyungsoo gets to come home at exactly three in the morning. Houston Street is absolutely packed, and it will take about an hour for him to pedal his way through the busy avenues and arrive at the rowhouses on East 5th. On extremely good days, the tires on his bike won’t get to run over any excrement littering the area, and he won’t have to spend his rehearsal breaks bending over the wheels and cleaning them with a garden hose. Kyungsoo thinks that maybe sometimes, they’re not exactly dog shit. You could never know with Manhattan.  
  
But it’s Wednesday. Kyungsoo absolutely hates Wednesdays, especially at three am, because the community garbage truck roams about for collection and it takes up much of the space on the narrow junctions where Kyungsoo’s home is near. He wrinkles his nose as he lets the truck pass first, backing his bike up on the tiny sidewalk with one foot planted firmly on the cement to balance himself.  
  
He finally arrives to his apartment building. It’s a nondescript thing, with the front gates rusting and low enough that it doesn’t serve its purpose. He parks his bike at the alley beside it, securing it with a lock wound around a metal post. The shy flicker of the streetlight illuminates the landlady’s wilting snowdrops pressed at the front of the window sill.  
  
Kyungsoo takes out his keys and opens the green door. His footsteps are loud as he saunters up to the third floor, where his own room is.  
  
Hands jammed inside his parka, he looks up at the security camera overlooking the stair railings, red light blinking to alert the landlady for any sign of a trespasser. Kyungsoo used to think that it was installed to keep an eye on the refrigerator at the end of the hallway, which is coincidentally aligned with the mouth of the stairs.   
  
It’s a conjecture with a strong basis, though. Kyungsoo’s first neighbor used to complain to the landlady that someone was stealing his midnight snacks. He’s gone now, and Kyungsoo doesn’t know where he is. He probably moved to Greenwich. All Kyungsoo knows is that the unit next to his is currently unoccupied.  
  
But, as he passes by Unit 4, he realizes that it’s not the case anymore. From the small slit under the door, light filters out from the inside.  
  
Without thinking, he pauses in front of the brown door. He doesn’t know what he’s waiting for exactly—a squeak, a shadow, a sign of life or two, maybe, at this ungodly hour—but he stares at the wood for a good five minutes before he forces himself to move to his own apartment. He needs sleep. He’s exhausted. Baekhyun’s non-cooperation and Chanyeol’s irritating laughs exhausted him.  
  
The air in Unit 3 is dark and heavy. Kyungsoo brushes his teeth and slips himself in between the sheets, wondering about the light in Unit 4.

 

****

  
  
  
Thursday morning starts with Junmyeon calling in sick, and Kyungsoo graciously gives him a day off. If it were Baekhyun, Kyungsoo would be flipping tables and haranguing him of the seven hundred thirty-three things that would go wrong if the man doesn’t show up.  
  
Kyungsoo takes a hot shower. He rinses himself slowly, careful to remove the grit near his left thigh, where an old cut is.  
  
Dressed in a plain black shirt and denim jeans, Kyungsoo shuffles outside of his unit to check the refrigerator in the hallway. He might at least get some groceries later since he’s free. He needs to restock for another Thirty Years War—good eggs are hard to come by in Alphabet City.   
  
It’s honestly a hassle, having to leave his apartment whenever he’s thirsty or when he’s suddenly craving Cheetos. There had been a small fire before due to a wiring problem, and the landlady had made the residents of each floor share a fridge to prevent that from happening again, and had them use conductors instead of regular stoves. Easier to check for screw-ups before a major blow-up, she said.  
  
The lid of the refrigerator is wide open. It makes Kyungsoo stop next to the stairway in surprise.  
  
“Umm,” Kyungsoo gurgles.  
  
In front of the refrigerator, a boy is staring at him, eyes wide, and Kyungsoo stares at him back for god knows how long. The thought that only registers in Kyungsoo’s brain for a moment is,  _Why isn’t he wearing a shirt?_    
  
Once he regains his senses, Kyungsoo redirects his gaze to the boy’s face. “Hello,” he mumbles in English.   
  
The boy doesn’t speak, so Kyungsoo risks a quick assessment of the kid. He doesn’t look American, or Caucasian for that matter. He looks startlingly handsome, yes, but not in that glossy, stick-figured-slash-burlesque manner that grace billboard ads of 21Men around the city. The boy’s charm falls in the Oriental category, probably a bit Bohemian with that weirdly styled hair, and definitely too young to sport a six-pack.  
  
Given how extremely inappropriate his thoughts are becoming, Kyungsoo shakes his head vehemently, and tries to shake off the image of taut muscles on tan skin.  _Stop fidgeting!_  “Are you from Unit 4?”  
  
The young man nods. The stranger’s eyes are unnervingly intense, though, and Kyungsoo clears his throat. “I’m uhh… I’m just going to check on something.”  
  
The boy moves away from the fridge, fingers wrapped around the neck of a milk bottle. Kyungsoo takes this as a signal and slips in, opening the freezer to check if he still has some cold cuts. There’s a packet of whole chicken that he’s sure doesn’t belong to him.  
  
“Is this yours?” Kyungsoo inquires, inwardly relieved that his voice sounds super steady.  
  
“Yes,” the boy answers, and the rich, timbre quality of his voice jars Kyungsoo for a moment. “Should I put it elsewhere?”  
  
“No. I—uhh,” Kyungsoo fumbles for words. Talking to young, attractive, shirtless guys – Kyungsoo swears he needs a well-planned dialogue for this sort of stuff. A script. A whole storyboard, maybe. He’s especially pathetic when he doesn’t know what to say.  
  
Luckily, the new guy is patient and waits until Kyungsoo makes sense of himself. “You take this part.” Kyungsoo gestures to the right, then to the left. “And I’ll take this one. I don’t know how we’ll divide the egg rack, though—”  
  
“We can share,” the boy quips, and then smiles at him sheepishly, perhaps apologizing for the interruption.  
  
Kyungsoo nods. “Okay.” He makes a mental note to buy butter, bacon, and Chinese cabbage later before closing the lid.  
  
There’s a strange prickling at the back of his neck, making the fine hairs on his nape stand, so Kyungsoo looks up. The boy is staring at him oddly, like there’s margarine stuck in Kyungsoo’s hair. “Can I help you with something?”  
  
The boy looks dazed. “I’m sorry,” he starts, and runs a hand through his dark brown hair. Kyungsoo watches the way it seamlessly falls back to his forehead. “But I don’t think I caught your name. What should I call you?”  
  
Kyungsoo can’t hide the surprise from his face. Unit 4’s last occupant didn’t even bother to know his two-lettered surname, let alone his given name; so the harmless question catches Kyungsoo off-guard for a second. “Kyungsoo,” he finally answers.  
  
“Ahh. Hello. I’m Jongin.”  
  
Kyungsoo stops. “Jongin?” he says, blinking. “Are you… isn’t that a Korean name?”  
  
“Yes,” the boy – Jongin – mutters, switching to Korean. He’s still eyeing Kyungsoo with a cross expression of shock and bewilderment, and Kyungsoo doesn’t understand what it means. He nibbles on his lower lip. “Haven’t we…?”  
  
“What?”  
  
Jongin’s face suddenly turns unreadable. He uncaps the bottle of milk, his ears slightly red. “Nothing. It’s nothing, sorry. It’s nice to meet you, Kyungsoo-ssi.”  
  
“Right.” Kyungsoo coughs. “I’ll get going. Bye.”  
  
Jongin looks up and flashes him a tiny smile, and Kyungsoo walks away.

****

  
  
  
The vegetable rack is a mess. Kyungsoo scowls as he dives his hand into the metal crate half-filled with wilting greens.  
  
After retrieving the only ball of cabbage that looks like it miraculously survived a locust invasion, Kyungsoo eases himself against the counter and places the goods one by one near the register. Lilibeth, a nice, teenage girl with blonde hair tied in a messy braid, snickers when Kyungsoo takes out the dozen eggs from his shopping basket.  
  
“I see you’ve won, Mr. Do,” she says with a twinkle in her eye. She scans the ID of the last batch. “No surprises there, but you know what I mean.”  
  
Kyungsoo grins, smug. The screeching lady from earlier was tougher than his usual opponents, but nothing he couldn’t handle. He really, really likes having eggs for breakfast.  
  
“Have a good day!” Lilibeth gesticulates as Kyungsoo rounds up his purchases. He places the paper bags gingerly in the front basket of his bike and pedals away, back to his apartment.  
  
His phone vibrates against his hip when he reaches Avenue B. Kyungsoo presses the brake and stops in front of a gourmet deli before checking the caller ID. It’s Baekhyun. “Hello?”  
  
“Teach me how to knit.”  
  
Kyungsoo almost hangs up when he hears Baekhyun follow up with, “It’s for my girlfriend! It’s her birthday this March!”  
  
Kyungsoo sighs. He drags his bike along the sidewalk. “Chanyeol knows how to knit,” he responds. “Go bother him instead. I’m busy.”   
  
“You’re way better than Chanyeol at knitting! Remember that sweater you made for me four years ago for Christmas?” Baekhyun says. “My mom loves it when I wear it to visit her at the hospital. She says it makes me look like I didn’t blow off school and got myself a nice broadcasting degree and all.”   
  
“Knitting, huh? You suck with your hands, Baekhyun.”  
  
“You’ve said I have pretty hands before,” Baekhyun says. Kyungsoo can imagine the impish grin on his friend’s face. Cheeky shit.  
  
“Did I? I don’t remember,” Kyungsoo says flatly. “And pretty hands have nothing to do with knitting. Why even bother? Just go buy her something from Gap.”  
  
A string of chuckles comes through the line, and just like that, the roles are reversed, and Baekhyun’s the one who knows everything Kyungsoo could only hope to understand. Baekhyun laughed like that too, when Kyungsoo broke up with him at Tompkins. “A gift has to mean something, right?” Baekhyun says. “A handmade sweater would mean a lot to my Taeyeon-ah.”  
  
From his side, a driver and an officer are arguing over a parking ticket. Kyungsoo cringes at their rising voices. “Stop being sappy, Baekhyun,” Kyungsoo says, rolling his eyes. “Think about it. Would you even have time to knit in between filming and your three part-time jobs?”  
  
“Just leave it to me, pops!” Baekhyun tells him. “Give me a step-by-step demo of the basics and I’ll handle it. Let’s start tomorrow! And get me some yarn, would you? Green and pink ones. Brings out the color of Taeyeon’s eyes.”  
  
“Make her a grey one then, just in case she gets cataract after five more years.”  
  
Baekhyun laughs, and Kyungsoo could never hate the unnecessary brightness of the sun, no matter how much he wants to.  
  
“You’re such an asshole,” Baekhyun says. “She’s only thirty-three, you know, and she’s  _super_  hot. I would have decked you for that insult if she didn’t like you enough.”  
  
“I’d love to see you try. Your lifeless body would be floating around somewhere in the East River.” Kyungsoo exhales shortly, and he turns his bike back to the direction of the bodega that sells three pounds of yarn for four bucks. “Just show up for filming tomorrow. We’ll be doing that scene at Budwelser with or without Junmyeon hyung.”  
  
A pause from the other line. “How will we manage that?” Baekhyun’s tone suddenly turns serious. “You said it was an important scene—”  
  
“I’ll take care of it,” Kyungsoo cuts in. He’ll worry about it later on his own, at the confines of his apartment. A major re-editing will probably take away eight more hours of sleep tonight, but it’s better than losing a week. Kyungsoo doesn’t have enough money to cancel and rebook the winery for another time. “I’ll send you a revised copy so check your e-mail later. Tell Sehun and Chanyeol. You’d all better be there at six o’ clock sharp.”  
  
Baekhyun seems to be holding something back, with the way his breath sounds stilted against the static. “Kyungsoo,” he starts. “Are you—”  
  
“I’m at the craft shop now,” Kyungsoo says. The display behind the massive glass window shows arrays of colorful twine nestled on shelves. There’s also a stuffed lemur hanging by a loose thread near the sill, and a small pumpkin on the ledge of an Oakwood table. “There’s hardly any reception here. Call me later.”  
  
“Okay,” Baekhyun replies, a bit hesitant. “Bill me.”  
  
“Of course. My services aren’t free,” Kyungsoo says, and he gets to hear Baekhyun’s booming cackle before he pockets his phone. He locks his bike on the rail and enters the shop.  
  
After half an hour, Kyungsoo is back pedaling in the streets with his basket carrying another set of bags. He zooms across the junction between Avenue B and Tompkins Square, taking that little shortcut in the alley outlined with walls covered in graffiti. Kyungsoo remembers filming a stakeout scene in this spot, where Baekhyun and Chanyeol played Eddie and Jeremy, two street kids who were paid to stalk a businessman’s cheating wife, and the catch was that both fell in love with her.  
  
That first film edged on that thin line between success and disaster.  
  
“You’ve got talent for somebody who’s supposed to be doing something else,” a man with a skinhead had said to Kyungsoo after that first and last screening in Lexington.  _Reviewer. Pretty unknown_ , Baekhyun had whispered to his ear after and patted his back. A person that both mattered and didn’t.  
  
Kyungsoo shifts his weight and edges to his right. Cars are starting to pack in front of The Library, so he has to shimmy his bike in between the crowd. A lot of people claim that The Library’s the trendiest bar in Alphabet City, though it still hasn’t earned Kyungsoo’s seal of approval. He’s only been there alone once when he needed a drink at two am, and Baekhyun was fast asleep on his couch. He remembers pouring antiseptic all over the bar counter and grimacing at the peanut tray covered in dried suds.  
  
It takes only one trip to carry all the paper bags up to his apartment. The stairs creak loudly as he goes, and Kyungsoo wonders if he still has that can of motor oil somewhere underneath his kitchen sink.  
  
Kyungsoo takes that last step of the stairs, and sees Unit 4’s newest occupant sitting at the tabletop near the hallway window.   
  
“Hi,” Jongin greets. His wet hair drips on the thin cloth of his white tanktop, and he’s holding a book open in the middle. Kyungsoo should be neighborly and offer him a towel, but he won’t. The smell of Jongin’s shampoo would probably cling to it, and Kyungsoo doesn’t want that.   
  
Jongin gestures at the paper bags when Kyungsoo says nothing and stares at him like an owl. “Do you any need help with that?”  
  
“No, thank you” is Kyungsoo’s immediate reaction. He keeps his head down and scurries to the fridge.  
  
Jongin’s still sitting on the table when Kyungsoo finishes unloading all the contents. He arches his back as he feels Jongin’s gaze follow him all the way to his room. 

****

  
  
  
At nine in the evening, Kyungsoo goes outside to get a can of energy drink from the fridge. Jongin is still perched on top of the table but fast asleep, with his head roosted on the window sill overlooking the busy, city streets. His hair has dried already, and it cascades back and forth as the soft wind whips at his face.  
  
Kyungsoo picks up the fallen book on the floor and places it on the table. He tries to close the door as quietly as he can, feeling slightly out of breath.

****

  
  
  
Baekhyun purses his lips. A slick of purple jam coats the side of his mouth, and Kyungsoo jams a napkin to his face so he cleans up. “A new neighbor?”  
  
They’re on break now. Chanyeol and Sehun are taking turns juggling the empty bottles of Hennessy somewhere in the basement. There’s Chanyeol’s exploding laughter and Sehun’s litany of curses whenever a glass breaks.  
  
Kyungsoo nods. “Probably a college kid or a fresh grad. Same age as Sehun most likely.”  
  
“That unit’s been unoccupied for years, though,” Baekhyun says. “I thought it was haunted. Still do.” He finishes the sandwich and licks the crumb off his fingers one by one. “Another starving artist?”  
  
Kyungsoo thinks back on the day he walked in on a shirtless Jongin crouching in front of the fridge, holding onto a bottle of milk. “He doesn’t look like he’s starving.” He shrugs, going for casual, but Baekhyun smells blood.  
  
“He must be hot,” Baekhyun sing-songs, and pinches Kyungsoo’s cheeks. “Can I drop by to your place later?”  
  
“No.” Kyungsoo grimaces vehemently and pushes the other man’s invading fingers back. “I won’t let you harass the kid, Byun Baekhyun. Besides, don’t you have a girlfriend to slither your filthy hands on?”  
  
Baekhyun titters at him. “You’re dirty.” He laughs. “Is sex the only thing you think about?”  
  
“It’s the only thing people ever think about,” Kyungsoo replies starchily. Another glass shatters in the basement, louder this time. He’s going to have to call for a time-out lest the two idiots downstairs break all the props.  
  
“So that’s why your films are like that. All sad and bleak and depressing.”  
  
Kyungsoo punches his arm. “Shut up.”  
  
Baekhyun rubs the sore part as he laughs. “I so want to meet this college kid now,” he says with a malevolent glint in his eyes. Jongin’s going to experience an explosive kind of shitstorm this early in his life if he ever meets Baekhyun. “Moving to East 6th Street—the darkest hellhole of Alphabet City—and sharing a refrigerator with the shortest, grumpiest man alive. He’s got to be interesting. And if he’s as attractive as you say, maybe he can do a short cameo and reel a couple of ladies in for the show. What do you think, El Supremo?”  
  
“Reeks of  _The Real Housewives of New Jersey_  all over, production-wise,” Kyungsoo counters. He stops, and then says, “And I never said Jongin was attractive.”  
  
“Oh, so Jongin’s his name?” Baekhyun grins at him wickedly. “You really don’t have to say anything, Soo. Your face does all the talking for you.” He pinches Kyungsoo’s cheeks again, and Kyungsoo has to swat his hand four times before he gets Baekhyun to back off.  
  
“So?” Baekhyun nudges him with a bony elbow. “Script changes? I don’t understand what this scene is supposed to accomplish.”  
  
Kyungsoo’s thankful for the not-so-subtle shift in subject. He knows how to explain this, at least. “We won’t need Junmyeon for this—well, at least physically. You’re not going to confront Gelo, but overhear Mary and him talking over the phone instead. We’ll have Junmyeon do a record. I only twisted the winery scene a bit, so there isn’t much change in the script as a whole.”  
  
“ _‘I’m sorry, Gelo, but I don’t see anything in store for us anymore,’_ ” Baekhyun says with his best impression of Sunyoung’s high-pitched voice, his spine straightening with one hand over his hip. He flashes Kyungsoo a befuddled look. “I don’t get it—I thought this is about Mary convincing herself that she likes Gelo more than Vince, and then realizes that she’s made a mistake and runs back to him?”  
  
“I changed my mind,” Kyungsoo explains. He looks up to find Chanyeol and Sehun coming up from the staircase, the older boy talking animatedly as his thick glasses slide through the slope of his nose, and Sehun’s eyes are darting everywhere, like he’s trying hard not to pay attention. Kyungsoo studies them for another moment, and then adds, “I think the story flows better if Mary ends up with neither of them. The romance in this shouldn’t even be a vital part, anyway.”  
  
Baekhyun snorts quite unattractively. “Only  _you_  would call this romance.” He then gives Kyungsoo a long, hard look, before continuing, “Really, Kyungsoo. For once in your life you have control over something and you still steer it towards the worst possible end.”   
  
Kyungsoo pulls at his sleeve. “So are you saying that you like the first ending better?”  
  
“Well, if I understood it right, the first ending is that Gelo and Mary continue fucking around until Mary decides to cling back to Vince for a couple of months, then Vince gets betrayed again when Gelo seduces Mary for the second time around. But then Mary realizes that she still loves Vince, so eventually Mary and Vince make up, but in the all inevitable future, Vince dies because of prostate cancer.”  
  
“That’s the gist of it, I guess.” Kyungsoo sighs. “You prefer changing it back to that?”  
  
Frowning, Baekhyun doesn’t even think about it. He shrugs. “Both endings suck if you ask me.”

****

  
  
A painting pole, duct tape, and a good fluorescent lamp later, Kyungsoo’s made the most spectacular cinematic lighting ever made all under thirty dollars apiece. The lighting for Baekhyun and Sunyoung’s scene that was shot last Friday was so atrocious that when Kyungsoo tried editing it from his laptop last night he couldn’t make anything decent of it. And so he asked everyone a few hours ago for a remake tonight. It elicited many groans and quibbles from Baekhyun and Sehun, though they both backed down in an instant when Kyungsoo grinned and threatened to withhold their paycheck.   
  
He tries it for size, crouching low in front of the window and mimicking Sehun’s stance, a camcorder in hand and the DIY light on the other. When he’s pleased with the way the shadows back down to the edges, and equally amazed at how the condensation from the daylong rain shines like tiny gems through the window, he rises and packs his things.  
  
Kyungsoo dashes through the stairs. He tumbles at the porch in an effort to slip past Jongin, who’s sitting on the last stair deep in thought or maybe gawking at bystanders. Kyungsoo’s not sure. Jongin greets him with a tiny good morning that Kyungsoo returns just as quietly.   
  
A leftover puddle from the earlier rain soaks the tip of Kyungsoo’s sneakers. He’s about to unlock his bike when a yellow thing draws his eye to the seat. There’s a plastic covering it, now wet from the rain, and a yellow memo pad underneath that says “:)” on it.  
  
“Umm,” Kyungsoo says to no one in particular. He whirls to his left, to his right. There’s no sign of anyone who could’ve left it there.   
  
“Strange,” he mumbles, and gives his bike a good shake until most of the water droplets fall off.  
  
Kyungsoo takes off the white plastic, revealing a completely dry and comfy saddle.   
  
He can’t help it—Kyungsoo laughs as he folds the paper and tucks it in his wallet. He’s still laughing as he moves towards the east of the sidewalk and almost runs over Jongin’s foot with his tire.  
  
“Sorry,” Kyungsoo says, and he’s such in a pretty good mood that he gives Jongin a wave.  
  
Jongin’s cheeks form a shy blush and his eyes shrink into crescents. Kyungsoo steps again on his pedal at full force and bikes away. 

****

  
  
  
“And a grasshopper appears after a gloomy rain” is Baekhyun’s first bullet for the evening. He grins wolfishly as he waits for Kyungsoo to hand him the improvised lights for the set. “Looking alive. If I didn’t know you better, I would’ve thought you’d gotten laid or something.”  
  
“Like any of your asses are getting any action,” Kyungsoo deadpans, and Chanyeol’s indignant “Hey!” comes all the way from the living room.  
  
“Nonsense, I go both ways,” Baekhyun says cheerfully. “Bisexuals are awesome, so take that, Do.”  
  
Kyungsoo scoffs. He channels the lock around the steel braces of the bike. “I wish Taeyeon noona has a comment on that,” he says, “But more importantly, thanks for getting me a dry ride tonight, Baek. You can have my serving for dessert later, as payment.”  
  
Baekhyun laughs as he quirks his bushy eyebrows. “What are you talking about?”  
  
“Wasn’t it you who put that plastic over my bike saddle this morning when it rained?” Baekhyun lives only a street away from Kyungsoo’s apartment, in a dreary building with a bad cream paintjob right next to Sake Satsko, a Japanese bar where Baekhyun’s girlfriend Kim Taeyeon works. It made sense in Kyungsoo’s head minutes ago, but with the way Baekhyun is gaping at him right now like he’s nuts, Kyungsoo’s not so sure anymore.  
  
“What plastic? What bike saddle?” Baekhyun’s smile melts a little, and Kyungsoo unpockets his wallet and shows the other man the memo.  
  
“You left this on my bike,” Kyungsoo says. “You covered the saddle for me. Right?”  
  
“Fuck, man, that ain’t my smiley,” Baekhyun claims after close inspection. “I draw my smileys like this—” Baekhyun makes a motion with his index finger, drawing a “=)” in the air. He hands the memo back to Kyungsoo, an amused expression plastered on his face. “And by the way, don’t you hate emoticons?”  
  
Kyungsoo doesn’t acknowledge the question with an answer and goes inside the hallway. A cheerful Baekhyun follows his lead. They arrive at the living room, and Kyungsoo hangs the memo in front of Chanyeol’s face. “Yah, Chanyeol, did you make this?”  
  
Chanyeol pauses from tuning his guitar, looks up, then looks back down again. “Nope!” he says with an annoyingly buoyant tone. “You know I can’t do doodles for shit, Kyungsoo. That’s why I have Sehun-ah designing all my tattoos.”  
  
“I’m the true artiste in this building,” Sehun adds, sitting cross-legged on a couch as he busies himself fiddling with the camera. His hair looks and smells like it has too much product on it. “And that sure ain’t my doodle either. What’s that for anyway, hyung?”  
  
“He found it taped to his bike this afternoon. Apparently, someone spared us from another terrible day of dealing with a surly Do Kyungsoo and his wet ass,” Baekhyun answers for him, and Kyungsoo kicks the back of his thigh. “There was a plastic covering the bike saddle with that cheesy note.”  
  
“Aww, that’s like the sweetest thing!” Sunyoung coos as Sehun makes gagging noises in the background. “I wonder if someone would care enough to do that for me too.”  
  
“But you’re thinking it was one of us?” Sehun says. “Sorry, man. I mean, we love you and all, but that’s not how we roll. Certified assholes from dusk ‘til dawn. Can I get a yehet?”  
  
“Speak for yourself.” Sunyoung gives Kyungsoo an apologetic smile when he turns to look pleadingly at her. “But yeah, it wasn’t me either. It’s not like I live near your neighborhood.”  
  
“So if it wasn’t any of you—”  
  
“It’s not the first time you got yourself a stalker.” Baekhyun slides an arm around Kyungsoo’s shoulders. “Remember Anna from college? Thin, wiry sasaeng girl who thought you looked like that K-Pop star D.O.?”  
  
Kyungsoo holds back a shudder from traveling down his spine. He definitely could never forget Anna Jenkins and the ten pieces of underwear that were stolen from his dresser, no matter how much he wanted to.  
  
Sunyoung whacks Baekhyun on the arm. “Why does it have to be a stalker? Can’t it be just a stranger doing a random act of kindness?”  
  
Chanyeol shrugs and says, “We’re in New York City, Sunyoungie. That kind of human sanity doesn’t happen here.”  
  
“Hate to say it, but Chanyeol’s right,” Baekhyun says with a knowing tone. “What you call a random act of kindness here needs some sort of payment every time. Maybe not now, but someday.”   
  
Kyungsoo grimaces at that, slipping the paper back to his wallet again. “Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.”  
  
“That just sounds depressing.” Sunyoung props her bare feet on the table, toes perfectly manicured. “This whole city is depressing. I want to go back to Ohio.”  
  
“Marilyn Manson was from Ohio,” Chanyeol supplies. Sunyoung looks like she’s about to hurl her hairbrush at him, and Sehun snickers at the side.  
  
“Who knows?” Sunyoung says. “Maybe Kyungsoo has a secret admirer.”   
  
“True,” Baekhyun says, poking Kyungsoo’s cheek. “If only this loser doesn’t bark at anyone who tries to be nice to him.”  
  
“I don’t bark,” Kyungsoo argues, but Chanyeol is belching out a laugh like a soda can exploding inside a hot car.  
  
When they’ve settled down, they go through the mixes Chanyeol and Sunyoung made for the first few scenes before they do a re-shoot. Baekhyun keeps on cutting himself every mid-take, saying that “the groove” hasn’t struck him yet. Kyungsoo turns grouchier by the minute, snapping at Baekhyun and sometimes at Chanyeol, whose laughs cloud over the clip.   
  
At one o’ clock, the whole crew is finally satisfied, and after a quick snack, they all head home.   
  
The roads are all clear, and Kyungsoo finds himself at the foot of his apartment building stairwell after half an hour of biking. He tests the flooring. They’re not creaking anymore since he oiled the joints yesterday.  
  
There are only four more steps before he arrives at the third floor when something — someone — sniffles.  
  
Kyungsoo stills for a while, listening. It really is there, the sniffling. It’s faint, but it sounds disturbingly ragged, like something got shoved down on the wrong pipe, somehow. His grip on the rail tightens, before he collects his resolve and quietly pads up the remaining steps.  
  
Jongin’s sitting on top of the table like last time, only instead of a book, there’s a laptop propped on his lap. When he notices Kyungsoo rigid at the mouth of the stairs, he hiccups. He quickly turns to his laptop again, glowering, rubbing the side of his face roughly with his palm.  
  
Kyungsoo heads towards the refrigerator, and in his haste, he almost trips on the orange cord at the base of the metal stand next to the stack of coolers. He opens the lid, shuts it, then opens it again. He gulps, and then grabs a can of Dr. Pepper and a bottle of water.  
  
There’s no sign of tears, but Jongin’s eyes are so, so red.  
  
Kyungsoo lets his legs take him to the table, even if they feel like they’re going to give out under him. He holds out the soda. “Here,” he says.  
  
Jongin stares at him for a moment, confused, before he places his laptop down next to him and reaches out. Kyungsoo gets a glimpse of a blank word document on the screen, the cursor blinking frighteningly. He doesn’t see anything worth crying about, but he averts his eyes towards the kid’s bare feet instead. It’s something Kyungsoo shouldn’t see, maybe.   
  
“Thank you,” Jongin mumbles. He’s talking to the floor. Kyungsoo waits, but he doesn’t twist the cap of the soda.  
  
Kyungsoo sighs, a soft, tired sound. It’s already three am and he’s beat. He grunts a good morning to the boy and slots his key into his apartment door. 

****

  
  
  
Kyungsoo’s cleaning the storyboard Sehun handed to him a week ago when there’s a knock on the door. Actually, three knocks followed by a distinct shuffling of footsteps at the doormat. Kyungsoo ties the belt of his robe tighter as he scurries the front.  
  
He opens the door wide. It’s the landlady, and Kyungsoo’s toes curl up in his slippers. 

His gaze lands on the calendar at the coffee table. It’s Saturday morning, February 5th.   
  
“I—” he mumbles at her outstretched hand. “I’m sorry…”  
  
The landlady seems genuinely surprised. “Well, this is a first,” she says. “You’ve never had a problem with rent before.”  
  
She’s right. Kyungsoo had always paid on time. “I’m sorry. I didn’t – I forgot it was today.” His breathing comes in stale and heavy. “Can you please come back another time? I really don’t have any money with me right now.”   
  
“I’m sorry, Mr. Do, but it’s part of our contract,” the landlady says, and there’s sympathy in her tone. “My bare necessities come from your payment. I’m afraid I’d have to eject you if you’re not going to pay your rent for this month.”  
  
The blood drains out of Kyungsoo’s face. All the money left in his bank account is for the movie production. Kyungsoo had the plates up in the air all at once—the financing was supposed to be infallible.  
  
“Can you give me two weeks?” Kyungsoo pleads when he finally finds his voice. He has no idea when he’s started shaking, but he is. “I—I don’t have money right now, but I’ll pay. I swear to god I’ll pay. I just need more time—”  
  
“Mr. Do,” the landlady exhales slowly, and Kyungsoo sees the answer before he hears it. “I’ll only give you two days, but that’s it. My grandkid would be living off of me for the next eighteen months so…” She shakes her head. Tufts of salt and pepper hair escape from her headband and falls to touch her wrinkled cheeks. “It’s a hard time for all of us. Why don’t you apply for a bank loan?”  
  
That’s out of the question. Kyungsoo’s got nothing to show to the lender but an awful credit rate and his disaster of a life.  
  
“Two days, Mr. Do. That’s all I can give you.”  
  
Invisible roots tie Kyungsoo to his spot by the door as he watches the landlady descend from the stairwell. He grips on the ledge like a lifeline.  
  
Two days. Where in the world is he going to get the money in two days?  
  
Kyungsoo should call Baekhyun. He knows he should. Or Junmyeon, Chanyeol, or Sehun. Ask them if they have anything to spare, or wouldn’t mind him holding back the paycheck for a while longer. Kyungsoo had bummed on Chanyeol’s couch before for three weeks. This isn’t supposed to be a big problem.  
  
A door creaks open across the hall, and a messy head of hair pokes out of the small space in between.   
  
“Sorry,” Jongin mutters. There’s a small frown playing on his lips. “I wasn’t eavesdropping or anything. I was about to leave and she…”  
  
_He heard everything._  “It’s fine,” Kyungsoo says, wishing he could stop his voice from trembling and making him sound so distressed. He takes a deep breath. “It’s fine. You didn’t mean to.”  
  
Jongin frowns even deeper, and looks at something over Kyungsoo’s shoulder. “You want to go out for a drink?” he asks, unsure.   
  
Kyungsoo’s mind reels. “Are you old enough to drink?”  
  
He’s not expecting to get a laugh out of that one, but Jongin’s face scrunch up delightfully as he does. “I might not look like it, but I just turned twenty-three last January,” Jongin says, looking more confident now. He stretches his arm and slips on the coat hanging at the back of his apartment door. The light from the window strikes Jongin’s face at just the right angle. Kyungsoo captures and tucks the image into his mind and hopes he’d be able to replicate it on a good scene for the movie someday.  
  
Jongin waits. “Well?”  
  
“But it’s still morning,” Kyungsoo says, and it’s a rather flimsy excuse even to his ears. He used to drink with Baekhyun until the toilet bowl spat all their vomit back. Kyungsoo doesn’t remember much of it, though—it was a really long time ago.  
  
“I know a great place that’s open at 10,” Jongin says.  
  
Kyungsoo finds himself nodding. He  _could_  use a beer or two. He still has enough money for it, that at least he’s sure. “Let me go change first.”   
  
He goes back to his bedroom and finds something decent to wear. The nerves on his fingers tingle so hard it takes him three tries before he gets the last button of his cotton polo. He shimmies inside his sweater and a pair of clean jeans.   
  
Jongin is by the door waiting for him. Kyungsoo noticed before. Once, twice—fine, maybe a few times whenever their eyes meet as they pass each other in this dastardly narrow hallway, but it’s not something that he can overlook now. Jongin really is attractive, and he looks so young that Kyungsoo feels he’s got more than thirty years on the boy instead of six.  
  
“Are you sure you’re twenty-three?” Kyungsoo double-checks.   
  
Jongin flashes him another one of his eye smiles. “I have an ID right here,” the boy says, tapping his back pocket, drawing attention to how snug the jeans are. They look nice on Jongin’s lean legs, but will he be able to waddle through the streets in that thigh-choking denim?  
  
It doesn’t prove to be a problem, though, as they walk through East 6th in half-awkward, half-companionable silence. Kyungsoo doesn’t mind the lack of conversation, his brain frantically flipping through Plan B’s and C’s revolving around his current dilemma.   
  
He can’t call Baekhyun. Kyungsoo knows he would be more than willing to help, but Baekhyun’s living arrangements with Taeyeon would just make a mess of things. And withholding pay is a no-go, no matter how many times he’s threatened his co-workers with it. Kyungsoo’s all bark and no bite, after all, and he’s never going to endanger the film production for a personal problem.  
  
Would Chanyeol and Sehun be willing to let him rent their couch for a month? Should he even tell them?  
  
How on earth is Kyungsoo going to get $2,650 in two days?  
  
A feisty hand takes him by the arm and jerks him back hard, and it makes Kyungsoo momentarily gain his sense of reality. He would have died under the crushing weight of the wheels of a Keetsa Mattress delivery truck if Jongin hadn’t been fast enough and pulled him out of the driveway.  
  
The truck driver yells something about blind, slant-eyed Asians before speeding away.  
  
Jongin huffs. “Bastard,” he mutters. He then turns to Kyungsoo and gives him a once over. “You okay?”  
  
Kyungsoo blinks, shaking his head vigorously to clear his thoughts. “Yes, I’m fine,” he says. “Thank you.”  
  
Jongin looks at him rather doubtfully before sliding back his hand to his side. The bystanders who saw the whole thing go on as if nothing happened, and Kyungsoo tries to do the same, ignoring the way Jongin’s anxious fingers hover over his shoulder whenever they pass a busy intersection.  
  
It’s probably the longest walk Kyungsoo’s ever taken to get to Grape & Grain. There’re only a few people inside when he and Jongin enter, mostly couples out on a date. Kyungsoo can already picture the whole place swarmed with hippie teenagers on Valentine’s Day.  
  
Jongin lets Kyungsoo choose the table for them, and he picks out the farthest one of the lot, right next to the brick foundations poised like it’s on the verge of crumbling. Jongin sets aside the vase full of flowers that covers Kyungsoo’s face when the elder takes his seat.  
  
Jongin flicks the menu towards him. “Pick anything you like.”  
  
Alarm bells start ringing in Kyungsoo’s head. “I’ll pay,” he insists.   
  
Jongin shakes his head and pouts. “But I invited you.”   
  
“I know you heard me and the landlady talking, but I’m capable of paying for my own drink.” Kyungsoo unconsciously juts his chin a little in a daring display of defiance. “And I’m older than you. I’m entitled to pay for everything as your hyung.”   
  
“Really?” Jongin says. “How old are you then, Kyungsoo?”  
  
Kyungsoo grimaces. “Twenty-nine.” It’s only been a few weeks since his birthday. In a blink of an eye, he’d be thirty soon.   
  
“Six years. That’s not a lot.”  
  
“It is to me,” Kyungsoo says solemnly. He pushes back the menu. “So pick, Jongin.”  
  
Jongin pauses for a while, and then says, “Umm, I’ll be having the Coriander soup with today’s beer, please.”  
  
Kyungsoo shakes his head. “Don’t pick the cheapest one for my sake. Let’s get ourselves something nice before I start sleeping in cardboard boxes in two days.”   
  
Jongin gives him a small, rueful smile, and when the busboy comes, he orders a platter of chicken skewers for the both of them.  
  
Kyungsoo grounds his thoughts at the current situation and restrains his fingers from taking out the tiny account notebook he keeps in his back pocket. He should worry about this later, when he’s alone again.  
  
Jongin shyly pushes him a half-filled beer mug, and Kyungsoo downs it all at once.  
  
“Were you serious about that?” Jongin begins after the busboy has taken their order.  
  
“What?”  
  
“‘Cardboard boxes in two days’?”  
  
Kyungsoo sighs. He rubs his eye. “Maybe,” he says faintly. It feels real now, that he’s admitting it.  
  
“Did something happen at work or…?” Jongin asks questions like he’s not sure if he should be asking them but asks them anyway. It jars Kyungsoo for a second.  
  
“I’m self-employed, I guess. I make movies,” Kyungsoo says. “Short, nonsense movies. Not really the popcorn kind.”  
  
“Are you like an indie filmmaker?”   
  
“Sort of. I don’t know.” Kyungsoo wets his lip and asks for another glass of beer. Jongin dutifully fills it up at the same height, and he chugs in down. “Some indie filmmakers get to hire name actors and hit the big screens. Biggest premiere I had was at Connelly’s, and the only audience were people who didn’t have anything better to do that night and adrenaline-junkie teens who liked having sex at the back of the cinema.”  
  
Their meal arrives then, the soup steaming and the chicken skewers with their perfectly roasted skin. Kyungsoo’s mouth waters immediately. He hasn’t eaten anything that amounted to more than four dollars a meal for eight months.   
  
Jongin is quiet, like he’s waiting for Kyungsoo to tell him something. So Kyungsoo does, as soon as the beer has worked its way into his system and loosened his tongue. “What you saw,” Kyungsoo mumbles. “It’s not that I’m broke or anything, but I’ve already had everything in my account set aside for a film production. I thought I had planned it all out perfectly, but...”  
  
“You forgot?”  
  
Half of Kyungsoo’s head wants to revolt, but nothing can be truer than that. It’s embarrassing, really. This isn’t his first film, but somewhere along the way, somewhere in between micro-budgeting every penny in his tiny red notebook, he forgot. Rent is a given, should be a given. Kyungsoo has made sure that he never forgets to pay on time. He had thought out of almost everything—from the scope to the cast cost to the night exterior shoots. Even Sunyoung’s weekly Chi-Chi splurge had been taken into account. Kyungsoo also makes a grocery plan every week, makes sure that he gets to pay his parents’ mortgage every month, and that he has enough to spare for Yuri and her kids.  
  
“Looks like you haven’t been paying attention to yourself at all.” Jongin makes a face, like that information bothers him somehow. He’s muttering at his lettuce, not looking at Kyungsoo at all. “The rent here in this part of the city is pretty cheap, but our rooms are far better than most.”   
  
Kyungsoo sighs. “I made the script last year with a lot of help from Junmyeon, a friend of mine. I settled the filming locations and supervised the shots. Made the budget. Sorted out the dimensions of the rooms and what goes where. I know where to cut and put all the stills. But it’s not just me. My friends have sacrificed a lot of their time in this. They’re assholes, the lot of them, but they’re good people essentially.” Kyungsoo pours himself another glass of beer. “It would be a waste if I stop now just because I can’t pay my fucking rent.”  
  
Jongin goes licking the sauce staining the edges of his mouth. Kyungsoo hands him a napkin and points at the general area he’s missed.  
  
“Your friends. They could help you, you know,” Jongin suggests.  
  
Kyungsoo shakes his head. “They have problems of their own. Sehun’s around your age, studying at a fancy film school right now. He’s in his last year so he’s busy, but he’s nice enough to help out. Chanyeol and Sunyoung are both actors and musicians. Freelance. They agreed to come despite the shitty pay since they’re friends with Sehun. Chanyeol sometimes helps with the set design too. There’s also Junmyeon, and he should actually be running a company, not kissing my ass. And Baekhyun...” Kyungsoo swallows hard. The beer is strong, he notices. His throat already feels like sand.   
  
Kyungsoo’s problems are nothing next to Baekhyun’s. Everything about Byun Baekhyun is larger than life. Fucker.  
  
Jongin seems to recognize that name. “Isn’t he that guy who yelled in front of my apartment last week?”  
  
Kyungsoo chuckles wryly. “The very one.”   
  
Knitting tutorials over bottles of Coors wasn’t the greatest of ideas, in retrospect. Under the haze of alcohol, Kyungsoo had let slip the details of his first meeting with Jongin, absence of shirts and rusty refrigerators to boot, and Baekhyun had insisted on seeing God’s Greatest Gift to Mankind himself. Kyungsoo definitely had a hard time extracting his friend from Jongin’s doorframe.   
  
“He can get a bit... abrasive. He’s especially worse when he’s drunk, so consider yourself lucky,” Kyungsoo says. “I met him when he was in charge of stacking the books in the library—I hadn’t known that I’d be signing myself in for years of misery.”  
  
“He sure runs laps with his mouth.” Jongin snickers behind the back of his hand. “He’s the first person I’ve seen come over to your place, so I guess you guys are close.” He then gives him a befuddled stare. “But you won’t tell him?”  
  
“I can handle it,” Kyungsoo answers, before exhaling loudly. “I  _will_  handle it. I’ll think of something later when I’m done moping.”  
  
Jongin stops his chewing for a moment, drinks a glass of water, and gulps. He studies Kyungsoo with soft, half-lidded eyes before looking down at his plate again. “I have some cash to spare. If you want, I could...” He starts trailing off, whirling his hands in tiny, circular motions, and it takes around fifteen seconds before Kyungsoo understands what he means.  
  
“That’s not—” Kyungsoo’s tongue isn’t cooperating with him anymore; he hears himself slurring. “No, it’s fine. That won’t be necessary.”   
  
“It’s okay if you can’t pay me back,” Jongin offers, lifting his head up until he meets Kyungsoo’s eyes. “I can just give it to you.”  
  
Kyungsoo makes a strangled noise. “No! That’s even worse!” His voice cracks. He’s more than stunned. Three thousand dollars. This kid is willing to give away three thousand dollars like Halloween candy. “No, Jongin. I really appreciate the gesture but that’s—that’s just beyond me.”  
  
“I’m not rich if that’s what you’re thinking, but I have more than enough.”   
  
Kyungsoo stares at him. “What’s the catch?”  
  
“Excuse me?”  
  
“Interest? 200% of the whole payment? Should I open the door for you every morning?”  
  
“What are you talking about? There’s no catch, Kyungsoo. You really don’t have to pay me back.”  
  
Kyungsoo locks his jaw. “No,” he replies firmly. “I really am thankful for your company today, Jongin, but that’s all I need. I don’t need your money. I don’t want it.”  
  
Jongin visibly slumps, frowning. He’s quiet for a long while that Kyungsoo wonders if he’s offended him somehow.   
  
There’s something unpleasant bubbling in Kyungsoo’s gut, and his soup is getting cold. He rubs the bridge of his nose. “Look. I know you mean well, but you can’t expect me to accept that, can you? I barely know you.”  
  
“It doesn’t matter. I want to help you.”   
  
Jongin is pouting at him, but Kyungsoo refuses to succumb to it. “We just met three weeks ago. You can’t just give away three grand to strangers, Jongin. The world doesn’t work that way.”  
  
“Three weeks ago?” Jongin says, and he leans forward on the table so fast that his forehead almost bumps onto the flower vase, startling the older man. “You think our first meeting was three weeks ago?” He looks bewildered, slightly affronted even, and Kyungsoo might be sober enough to continue talking, but his mind isn’t working well enough to comprehend the situation.  
  
Kyungsoo reshuffles and says, “Yeah. We met in January 16th. The day after you moved in.” Seeing a shirtless man getting his morning milk was iconic, he admits. There’s no way he could ever forget something like that.  
  
“Wait—no. No. That’s not true,” Jongin responds and crosses his arms. “We met before that. Way before that.”  
  
“I…” Kyungsoo thinks back hard, scrunching his face in the effort. “Was it on the exact day you moved? But I was out the whole time. I don’t remember seeing you move in—”  
  
“Never mind,” Jongin interrupts rather harshly, frowning again. “Forget what I said.”  
  
He’s not sure if it’s just his brain feeding him false images, but Jongin looks terribly unhappy. Kyungsoo focuses on chewing his lower lip and turns away. The magic of alcohol never really lasts that long – Kyungsoo’s tongue-tied already.  
  
After a while, the onset of dizziness inevitably begins. He probably needs a paracetamol and a glass of water, but he settles with planting his face on the table and cradling his head with his hands.   
  
Jongin pokes his cheek. “Hey. Are you tired?” He pokes him again when Kyungsoo doesn’t answer, and Kyungsoo, annoyed, looks up and growls at him. Jongin chuckles.  
  
“You haven’t even finished your chicken,” Jongin points out, still laughing, and Kyungsoo would roll his eyes if his head didn’t feel like it was suddenly cruising in an ocean of seaweed. This Jongin kid is so moody.  
  
“Ram it all inside your pie hole then,” Kyungsoo says without heat. The mindless chatter and the tinkle of the glasses inside the bar are already lulling him to sleep. “Don’t hold back. I know you love eating chicken.”  
  
“You noticed?” Jongin asks quietly, smiling a bit. Kyungsoo wants to say that he would’ve been blind not to notice the dumpster overflowing with empty buckets of KFC ever since the kid arrived, but Kyungsoo’s mouth is too dry and his tongue too heavy.  
  
Instead, Kyungsoo mumbles, “Yeah. Yeah, I did,” and seeks for a comfortable spot to rest his aching head on.   
  
“Wait,” Jongin says. “Are you going to sleep here?”  
  
“I guess.”  
  
Jongin laughs softly. “Okay.”  
  
Using the table napkins as a pillow, Kyungsoo closes his eyes.  


  
****  


  
  
He wakes up at someone blowing hot air in his left ear.  
  
“And there I was thinking that you’re miserable as fuck,” a familiar voice remarks, and Kyungsoo groans. “I didn’t know you were sneaking around and drinking with beach boys, Kyungsoo. This is stellar news.”  
  
“Shut up,” Kyungsoo croaks drearily. He blinks, struggling to focus on Baekhyun’s ugly face. His back straightens abruptly when he remembers where he is and realizes that someone’s missing. “Where’s the kid?”  
  
Baekhyun smirks. “You mean Kim Jongin? He left.”  
  
“What?” The lampposts are casting shadows at the wrong side of the pavement. Kyungsoo checks his watch. It’s already four in the afternoon.  
  
“He called me using your crappy phone. Said he had something very important to do.” Baekhyun shrugs. He takes a sip from Jongin’s beer mug before setting it down, and Kyungsoo gapes at him. “He asked me to look after you and take you home when you woke up.”  
  
A thought suddenly jerks Kyungsoo more than awake. The table is already cleared except for the drinks. “Did Jongin pay for the whole tab?”  
  
“Well, yeah. Gave me cash for a taxi too even though your building isn’t that far—”  
  
“Why did you take it?” Kyungsoo thunders, and for the second time that day, everyone’s attention shifts and they all turn to stare at him.  
  
Baekhyun grimaces. “Would you calm the fuck down? Jongin was just being nice. Why do you always get riled up when it comes to money?”  
  
Baekhyun has no idea, really, but Kyungsoo still kicks him under the table. “We’ll walk, okay? I’m not that tipsy anymore.” He scowls. “And since when is he just ‘Jongin’ to you?”  
  
“Since two hours ago. Anyone who can stand your horridness I consider my friend,” Baekhyun answers flippantly. He’s terribly amused now, Kyungsoo can tell, and he runs a hand through his hair, exasperated. He owes his new neighbor $37 and a piece of his mind.   
  
Kyungsoo risks treading on thin ice once more. “Did he… did he say anything?”  
  
“No.” Baekhyun’s eyes turn to slits. “Why? Is something going on, Soo?”  
  
Kyungsoo’s shoulders almost sag in relief. He shakes his head. “Nothing,” he says. His throat feels painful. “Nothing to worry about.”  
  
For a second, Baekhyun looks like he’s going to fight Kyungsoo on it, but he lets it go. Kyungsoo silently thanks his lucky stars and hauls himself up.

****

  
  
  
The midnight shower crosses the Atlantic to envelop the whole of Manhattan. Battery Park gets a little flooded, but no one seems to mind.  
  
Kyungsoo combs his hair flat, facing the mirror, and then stuffs his phone into his back pocket. There’s a pigeon resting on the window sill. Normally, Kyungsoo would shoo it away before it leaves a trail of droppings, but he ignores it.   
  
He looks around his room, and wonders if he should start packing. Maybe tonight. He’s already accepted the fact that he really can’t conjure three thousand dollars out of thin air by tomorrow.  
  
He kicks the gate with a light prod of his foot, walks over to his bike, and almost breaks into a hysterical laugh.  
  
The saddle is wrapped in white plastic. There’s a smiley on the note again.  
  
Kyungsoo rips the whole thing from the seat, shredding it with his fingers.   
  
There’s a disturbing itch at the back of his eyes, and Kyungsoo presses his palms on his eyelids.   
  
“Nothing’s free in this world anymore,” Kyungsoo’s father had once said. The hospital sheets were a creamy kind of white underneath him as Kyungsoo watched the nurses wheel him away into a room full of other sick people who couldn’t afford the medical fees.  
  
Baekhyun had said the same thing, only with different words. It doesn’t really matter who said it better.   
  
Kyungsoo rubs his runny nose, sniffling, and pedals. Kindness always comes with a price tag. He wonders what’s going to be taken away from him next time.

 

****

  
  
  
Kyungsoo has all of his things packed and organized by the door, and his three-night reservation at a nearby motel is heavy in between the leaves of his red notebook. Mondays have never passed this slowly. Unit 3 feels humid and restricting this morning, like it can’t wait to finally have Kyungsoo out of its borders.  
  
_This is for the film_ , Kyungsoo assures himself. After it’s done, he’ll have enough money to rent another one. If he’s shameless enough, maybe he’ll come back. Even though it’s a tad pricey for an average room, Kyungsoo has always liked this place, even if he has to share his refrigerator with someone else.  
  
There are knocks on the door, but it’s more than the usual three. His forehead creases as Kyungsoo opens it wide, and it’s not the landlady who’s standing outside.  
  
Jongin sees the small luggage at the foot of the round table. “Great, you’re packed already. Let’s go.”  
  
“What?” Kyungsoo exclaims in bewilderment. “Go where?”  
  
“I asked the landlady yesterday morning,” Jongin says. “I already paid for this month. I’m actually fine with paying for everything until you find an apartment of your own, but if you want, let’s split the rent to 70-30. 70’s for me, of course. Or if you’re not comfortable with that, how does 60-40 sound?”  
  
“I don’t understand,” Kyungsoo gripes. “You’re not making sense, Jongin-ssi. What’s going on?”  
  
Jongin breaks into a massive grin. “Unit 4 has three bedrooms,” he says, jerking his thumb at the general direction of his apartment. “Let me move my things first so you can have the biggest one since you have a lot of filming equipment with you.”  
  
Kyungsoo’s mind draws a complete blank, and Jongin grabs the opportunity by barging in his living room and unlocking the rollers of his luggage. Before the older man’s brain catches up, Jongin is dragging all his things out of Unit 3 and into his apartment, and Kyungsoo just stands at the doorway, dazed.  
  
His feet starts to move on their own, and he follows Jongin next door. “I—I can’t live with you,” he squeaks. “Wait, no, I already made a motel reservation.”  
  
“Oh, okay. Go cancel it, then. Here, you can call them on my phone.”  
  
“They don’t allow refunds,” Kyungsoo interjects, and Jongin laughs at his face.  
  
“I can’t believe you’re more worried about that.” Jongin cackles. He then carries Kyungsoo’s golf props to the living room.  
  
“Hey!” Kyungsoo shouts when the whole situation finally dawns on him, and he grips hard on Jongin’s bicep. “Wait, put that down! Stop moving my things!”  
  
Jongin rolls his eyes emphatically. “A motel sounds horrible, Kyungsoo,” he says. “And knowing how cheap you are, they probably don’t even have hot water.”  
  
Cheap? “Please stop hauling my stuff,” Kyungsoo says. He punches Jongin’s arm for good measure. “I’m not living with anyone!”  
  
“Stop being so stubborn,” Jongin says, looking exasperated. He’s talking informally now.   
  
“I don’t have enough money, Kim Jongin-ssi,” Kyungsoo stresses. “Even for 60-40. I can’t pay you.”  
  
“I already told you. You don’t have to pay for anything if you can’t.”  
  
Kyungsoo wants to claw at his own face. “No, that’s not okay! I’m not going to freeload on anyone.”  
  
“What the heck – you’re not freeloading!”  
  
“You don’t understand! I don’t want to make you my —”  
  
“Will you  _please_  listen to me?” Jongin exclaims. Suddenly, he’s holding Kyungsoo by the shoulders, hands enormous and warm as he steadies the elder, and Kyungsoo halts his breathing in response. His gaze softens when he takes in Kyungsoo’s startled expression, and it makes Kyungsoo’s insides churn.  
  
“Look, I want to help,” Jongin says. “I don’t want you slumming in the streets, and the landlady doesn’t want that either. A motel isn’t fine. If you can’t stay with your friends, you can stay with me for the meantime. This isn’t permanent, okay?”  
  
Jongin lets go of him afterwards and looks down, his arms sliding back to his side. The place where Jongin touched him burns.   
  
“Sorry.” Jongin is talking to his slippers again. Kyungsoo wonders if it’s a habit of his. “I’ll be inside. Don’t… don’t leave, okay?”   
  
A rat probably crawled to Kyungsoo’s throat and died, rendering him unable to speak. He just stares at Jongin with wide, unflinching eyes, until the younger man exhales loudly through his nose, his lips set into a grim line.  
  
Jongin leaves him there at the doorway and goes inside his room, and Kyungsoo only senses the tension in the air when it starts to fade away and he can breathe again.

 

****

  
  
  
Kyungsoo finds Jongin later in the living room, sprawled on his belly in a too tiny couch, watching a 2004 rerun of Nets vs. Dodgers. Jongin had cleared out his stuff in his room already so Kyungsoo could unpack, but Kyungsoo still hasn’t taken out any of his things except for his bag of toiletries.  
  
Jongin seems not to notice his presence. Kyungsoo doesn’t know where to place himself—should he sit on the floor and join him or should he just hide back in Jongin’s old room and finish editing? But then he glances at the open window, and sees that it’s gotten dark already.  
  
Kyungsoo heads outside and takes out the ingredients for japchae and tak toritang from the fridge. He snorts at the Tupperware with a half-eaten Burger King whopper before closing the lid.  
  
Jongin’s eyes are on him when he reenters Unit 4. With a deep frown set on his boyish features, he follows Kyungsoo to the kitchen.   
  
If he’s being honest, Kyungsoo finds Jongin’s stares very flustering since day one. As he works his way around the area, Kyungsoo focuses on trying not to look like he’s bothered by it at all. He pokes around the ceiling cabinets that are barely within reach. Standing on his toes, he gropes for the handle of a pot.  
  
“Here,” Jongin says, and Kyungsoo almost squeaks when the boy suddenly materializes at his side, Invader Zim shirt hitching upwards as the younger stretches his right arm. Kyungsoo gets a glimpse of a tanned stomach and a black underwear waistband, before Jongin is out of his personal bubble.   
  
He accepts the stainless steel stock pot from Jongin. “Umm, thanks,” Kyungsoo says, his ears turning red. He grimaces at the cabinets. “I’ll buy myself a footstool next time.”  
  
Jongin shrugs. “You can just ask me. It won’t cost you anything.”  
  
Kyungsoo should be offended at that, but it only makes him smile. It’s almost like it’s Jongin’s strange way of making him feel at home. “If you say so.”  
  
Jongin beams wide this time, and Kyungsoo’s stricken again at how young and jumpy Jongin looks and acts, with his hands in his short pockets and his printed shirts and that constant, rocking motion he does with his heels.  
  
Kyungsoo cooks while Jongin watches him, the fanatic screams from the television filling up the silence for them. They set up the table as soon as the chicken simmers to a finish, and there are five hundred questions Kyungsoo wants to ask but he has none of the courage to voice them.  
  
So it’s no surprise that Jongin’s the one who initiates the conversation again. “I’ll be out early for school tomorrow,” he says. He runs a hand through his hair, and there’s a pimple at the base of his forehead, near the scruff at the end of an eyebrow. “The bathroom’s at the very back. Can’t miss it. And I won’t be here until five in the afternoon. So, umm, feel free to run around.”  
  
“Okay.” Kyungsoo mixes the vegetables on top of the japchae with the end of his fork. “I’ll be actually out the whole day too. I’ll be back at three the next morning.”  
  
“Filming?” There are stray crumbs of potatoes around his mouth. Kyungsoo makes a gesture with his thumb, and Jongin gets the message, trailing a wet tongue over his upper lip.   
  
Kyungsoo almost chokes on his drink, but recovers in time. He nods faintly.   
  
Jongin flicks his earlobe as he grins. “That sounds really cool,” he says. “You know. What you’re doing.”  
  
Kyungsoo agrees easily. It’s hard work, but Kyungsoo had fallen in love with movies and filmmaking at such a young age that he could never imagine his life without it. The accounting diploma he keeps at the bottom of his luggage will probably never see the light of day again once he stuffs it in a drawer, but Kyungsoo doesn’t want to think about that.  
  
“I’m not much of a movie buff, but I do like stories,” Jongin supplies. “I’m taking creative writing at NYU while I take dance as a second minor. I’ll graduate this September, hopefully.”  
  
So he was right about Jongin being an undergraduate student at some prestigious university. Something doesn’t add up, though. “Aren’t there much closer housings to NYU? Why move to Alphabet City at your last year?”   
  
Jongin flushes. “Lack of inspiration, I guess,” he says. “Nothing happens in Broadway that I haven’t seen before. I can’t get a hold of what I’m supposed to be doing with my entry for a journal—or at least, that’s what our adviser said.”  
  
“Oh. I hope Alphabet City’s given you something great to write about then.”  
  
“I’m sure it will. It’s only been three weeks and I’m already sharing my apartment with a filmmaker.” He laughs when Kyungsoo starts spluttering at his bowl of tak toritang. “Please don’t think you’re burdening me, Kyungsoo. You’re not. Think of it as lending a desperate college kid a hand and wheedling him out of his writer’s block.”  
  
“That won’t stop me from cooking you breakfast, though,” Kyungsoo says before he can think better of his words. “As payment, I mean. And I’ve seen you clog the fridge with fast food take-outs. If you’re being so insistent on carrying my weight, you’ll have to do a better job in keeping yourself alive first.”  
  
Jongin grins. “I’m definitely okay with that arrangement. Anyway, my mom always wanted me to find a roommate who could make something other than kimchi jiggae,” he says, and the way the warmth pools in his eyes reminds Kyungsoo of quiet, soothing mornings under the shade of a tree somewhere in Korea.  
  
“Thanks,” Kyungsoo mutters. A thought occurs, and he says, “You can call me ‘hyung’, if you’d like.” If Kyungsoo was nice, he’d ask Jongin to not talk formally at all. But Kyungsoo’s not nice. He is, according to Baekhyun, ‘the devil personified.’  
  
Jongin suddenly looks a lot like Kyungsoo’s niece when she finally experienced her first snow. Kyungsoo never knew it would be this simple to make someone look this happy.  
  
“Okay, Kyungsoo hyung.” Jongin tilts his head, smile bright and oddly comforting, and there’s something else hanging at the end of his full lips, something that makes Kyungsoo’s chest twinge a little.   
  
Kyungsoo looks down at his plate. He doesn’t want to break the moment with his furious blushing. 

****

  
  
  
Six thirty am starts with Jongin walking out from his room shirtless, and Kyungsoo is reminded of the reason why he was so hesitant to take up Jongin’s offer to live with him for a while. With broad shoulders eclipsed by lean, powerful muscles, Jongin is a living sin smack out of _Giovanni’s Room._  
  
“Morning, hyung,” Jongin greets drowsily with stale breath, and Kyungsoo’s grip on the skillet tightens. “Smells great. I sure could get used to waking up to this every morning.”  
  
_Same thing goes for me_ , Kyungsoo whoops sarcastically in his head. He bites his lip. He’s not going to say it out loud. The man can waltz around topless if he wants to—Kyungsoo’s the intruder in his territory, not the other way around.  
  
So Kyungsoo subjects himself to an hour-long torture, battling with himself and trying not to ogle at the way Jongin’s arms flex in a very flattering manner as he gobbles down his breakfast in that small, hideous couch. He laughs breathily at Jongin’s sad attempts of cracking jokes at the horoscope section in the morning paper. He visibly flinches when Jongin reaches out to smooth the clump of hair sticking up at the back of his head, and he wants to asphyxiate himself with a wire mesh when Jongin grins at him, still shy, but not unfamiliar now.   
  
If this is the payment for accepting kindness, Kyungsoo thinks that he’d rather be slumming in that dingy motel room.  
  
“Where did you learn to cook, hyung? Do all filmmakers learn that somewhere in the finagle?” Jongin rubs at his eye. His sweatpants are dragging across the floor, and his hair is a mess.   
  
“Not really,” Kyungsoo manages to say. “Living alone for eight years can push a guy to do anything.”  
  
Jongin snorts. “Didn’t apply to me. I’m happy enough with the discounted noodles I get from the convenience store down the road.”  
  
“You should go take a shower,” Kyungsoo says as soon as Jongin finishes eating. “Aren’t you late for school?”  
  
Jongin chuckles and stands. “Yes, hyung.” He squeezes Kyungsoo’s arm lightly before disappearing to the bathroom.  
  
Acid reflux is the worst, Kyungsoo thinks sourly, as his stomach bubbles. He puts all the dishes in the sink and flicks open the tap. He wonders if Jongin would still act all touchy-feely if he tells him what he is. He probably won’t.

****

  
  
  
Kyungsoo and Sehun are out of breath by the time they finish filming the scene in Tompkins Square. It had taken them eight takes before Kyungsoo was satisfied with the angles. The trees kept on blocking the natural light that needed to illuminate Baekhyun’s face while he ran, and Sehun had almost been bitten by a Dalmatian after he accidentally stepped on its tail while he tried to get more coverage.  
  
Kyungsoo hands the extra a grape-flavored juicebox and five dollars. “Thank you so much for your hard work,” he says, and the blue-eyed girl smiles and sprints away.  
  
Sunyoung hands the three a towel as they all plop together on the grass.  
  
“Still no call from Junmyeon hyung?” Kyungsoo asks, and Sunyoung shakes her head.  
  
Chanyeol looks up from his laptop and takes off his headphones. He’s composing another song – Kyungsoo can tell by the way his eyes are dry and unfocused – and it’ll be probably good enough for Chanyeol to sell to record companies, but Kyungsoo knows that he won’t. Kyungsoo doesn’t understand why he’s still singing at night clubs and composing for no one when Chanyeol knows he’s talented enough to make it big.  
  
“Oh, right. NY Baroque Dance called this morning,” Chanyeol says. His face brightens when Sehun leans a tired head on his shoulder. “They said it’s a go, but we can only shoot for half a day.”  
  
Twelve hours. That’s doable. Kyungsoo replies, “I got us a couple of guys to fill the room. Fifteen of them. We can make up for the three days we lost if we finish shooting that scene next week.”  
  
“That sounds about right if only Junmyeon hyung shows up,” Baekhyun gripes. A frisbee lands near his feet, and he tosses it back to the kids with a scowl. “This is as far as we can go without him in the project. We have to drag him in next week or we’re all toast.”  
  
Kyungsoo tries not to think about the deadline United Film gave him and says, “He probably ran into some trouble with work. You know how it is. Hyung will tell us if he wants to quit ahead of time, anyway.”  
  
Sunyoung smiles at him wide. “For someone who claims to have no regard for personal businesses, you seem to care about Junmyeon a lot.”  
  
“Hyung is mushy like that,” Sehun claims in a monotone. “Remember that time he put filming for  _Equivoque_  on hold for an entire week because I had to prepare for my finals?”  
  
“That’s because I couldn’t find a replacement for you, and except for taking stupid selcas, Chanyeol is an absolute shit with cameras,” Kyungsoo retorts, and Baekhyun bursts into a laugh. “Don’t take it the wrong way. I’ll kick your ass if you let your personal problems meddle with work.”  
  
“Yeah, but you won’t kick us off the project. You’re too soft for that,” Chanyeol says with an obnoxiously wide smile showing obnoxiously white teeth.  
  
“I’m not soft!”  
  
Baekhyun laughs again. “Of course you are! Our Kyungsoo is such a cute, angry little kitten who likes to think he’s a panther in a concrete jungle.”  
  
Kyungsoo grabs Baekhyun in a choke hold, and it’s all in a day’s work for their small team of five.  
  
They finish early, and Kyungsoo takes the longest route home. He’s still hung up on the whole shirtless-Jongin ordeal, which Kyungsoo knows is silly, since he’s a twenty-nine-year-old, fully-functional adult, and he’s wrestled more difficult things than flaring hormones. There’s also the fact that he’s seen Sehun without a top countless of times before, but his body doesn’t seem to react the same way it does with Jongin. Maybe it’s because he’s known Sehun for a long time and they’re friends.   
  
Kyungsoo hopes that he’ll get over it soon, so next time he won’t be too anxious to take his usual route and arrive early to Jongin’s apartment. The sooner he sees Jongin as a friend, the sooner he’ll be able to cook the kid some dinner without freaking out at his abs.  
  
It’s by pure coincidence that, as he passes through the brick houses in 2nd Avenue, he spots the small  _Now Hiring_  poster in front of a deli shop. Something in his bike must be weighing him down, because he doesn’t move even when the stoplight turns green.  
  
Kyungsoo contemplates for ten whole minutes before sighing and chaining his bike on the steel post of a  _Commercial Vehicles Only_  sign. He passes by two Latinos smoking in front of a moving truck as he enters the shop.  
  
Inside, there’s a slight man cataloguing the crate of oranges, and Kyungsoo is surprised to see the man is Korean.  
  
“Of course I’m Korean. This  _is_  a South Korean store,” he answers with a laugh at Kyungsoo’s almost shameless display of amazement. The man’s nameplate says ‘Jongdae’ in roman letters.   
  
Kyungsoo blushes. In his defense, the S and K in  _S.K. Deli Market_  could mean anything.  
  
“Are you Christian?” Jongdae says as he picks up a broom, smile stretching up and curling in a peculiar manner, like the soft tendrils of a vine. His voice is light and cheerful for someone who’s working a graveyard shift.  
  
Kyungsoo nods. “Yeah, I am.” He leaves out the part that he hasn’t been to church for more than a decade.  
  
“Perfect!” Jongdae smiles even wider. “You can start tomorrow.”

****

  
  
  
Kyungsoo scalds his tongue with his coffee when he finds Jongin camping out in the living room at four am, the liquid dripping from his chin to his enamel white flannel shirt. Jongin stares at him openly with a tired smile in place as he sits Indian-style on the floor, his laptop propped on his thighs.  
  
Kyungsoo can’t be wholly lucky, but at least Jongin’s wearing a shirt this time.   
  
“God, you scared me for a second there,” Kyungsoo says as he slides the door closed, all jittery now. He’s still not used to coming home to someone. “It’s already four, Jongin. Why are you still awake? You have school in less than three hours.”  
  
“I was catching up on a TV series I missed,” Jongin says. He then turns back to his laptop and pauses the video. “And I was… I was sort of waiting for you to come home.”  
  
Kyungsoo blinks. “Oh. Umm, okay.” He looks around everywhere, anywhere but the floor. He takes off his coat and hangs it on the peg next to Jongin’s.   
  
“Hey, uhh, Jongin?” Kyungsoo says when he’s cleared his thoughts. “I’m supposed to tell you later at breakfast, but since you’re still up… I just want to say that I got myself a part-time job at a deli store.”   
  
Jongin turns to his direction, and Kyungsoo squares his shoulders. Now is not the time to find Jongin’s slight tilt of the head endearing. “I’ll be assigned pretty inhumane hours, so—umm, don’t stay up late for me, okay? I already have keys to your apartment so you don’t have to wait.”   
  
The boy’s expression turns inscrutable. With much difficulty, Kyungsoo clears his throat and says, “I might be able to make enough to pay for rent. Just give me a month and I’ll be out of your hair, I promise.”  
  
At that, Jongin’s mouth downturns. “You didn’t have to get yourself another job, hyung. I’m perfectly fine with this.”  
  
“I need the money, anyway,” Kyungsoo counters.  _And I don’t want to depend on you or anyone_ , he wants to say, but he clams his mouth shut before he can get the words out of his system. “It’s stupid that I haven’t thought about it before, but it’d be great for both of us.”  
  
“How?” Jongin closes his laptop shut and stands at full height. “Hyung, you look really terrible right now, and how much sleep would you be sacrificing when you start your shifts?”  
  
“This is actually pretty normal for me,” Kyungsoo says. He took in three odd jobs when his father got sick, when the bills imploded and they couldn’t be covered by insurance anymore. He recalls getting desperate by the second year as the cash ran out, when the contract for that last janitorial thing he did was done, and by chance he saw that film festival poster at Connelly’s. He shakes his head. “I’ll get around, don’t worry. It’ll make it quicker for me to pay you.”   
  
Jongin’s face contorts. “That’s not what I want. I’d hate myself so much knowing that you’re tired because you’re working so hard to —” He halts himself in mid-thought.   
  
Kyungsoo waits, urging him to continue, and Jongin huffs a sigh. He locks his jaw, and then says more quietly, “I thought we were going to help each other out.”  
  
Kyungsoo licks his lips. He doesn’t like that look on Jongin’s face, that clear expression of worry and hurt. It’s only a few hours before daybreak, and Jongin should be asleep now, dreaming, and not taking up Kyungsoo’s problems as his own. “Of course we are. But I’ll have to do some things on my own, okay? My life’s a little complicated right now, but yours doesn’t have to be. You’re still a kid.”   
  
Jongin looks like he’s been stabbed. “I’m not a kid,” he whispers.   
  
“But you are, to me,” Kyungsoo says. With his pants sagging to the floor and wearing a shirt three sizes too big, Jongin is definitely like a kid to him. He takes a few steps forward and urges Jongin to look at him in the eye. “Thanks for wanting to look out for me, Jongin, but I can handle it.” He tries for a smile. “Go to sleep.”  
  
“Wait, hyung,” Jongin says, clutching at Kyungsoo’s wrist lightly when the older is about to retreat to his room. There’s a red tinge forming on his cheeks as he rubs his nape. “Does it have to be a month?”  
  
“I’m not sure, but I’ll try,” Kyungsoo replies, and he catches that odd, pleading look etched on Jongin’s face. “If not, I’ll probably make enough in two months to move out.” It’s a rough estimate, but Kyungsoo’s willing to cut off his weekly grocery shopping into twice or once a month, and maybe he’d be able to save enough for a new lease.   
  
Jongin gives him another strained look. “You don’t have to leave in two months,” he says, and his voice sounds so shaky that it makes it hard for Kyungsoo to understand. “I’d… I’d really like it if you’d stay for a while.”  
  
“Here? With you?”  
  
“Yes. Please,” Jongin says, his voice disarmingly low. “Two months is…” He trails off, leaving Kyungsoo alone to fill in the blanks.  
  
“O-okay,” Kyungsoo responds, all the while confused, and Jongin lets him go. “How long?”  
  
A pregnant pause, before Jongin mutters, “Six months”. He then repeats it loud enough for Kyungsoo not to mistake it with anything else. “Make it six months.”  
  
Kyungsoo fails to understand at first, but then his brain turns into a babbling brook in an instant.  
  
_Six months?_  
  
“That’s… a lot of time,” Kyungsoo chokes out.  
  
“You don’t have to cook for me,” Jongin says in a rush. “You don’t have to do anything.”  
  
One month is okay. Two’s probably a stretch. But six whole months? “I can’t,” Kyungsoo answers weakly.  
  
Jongin reaches out for his wrist again. “Why not?”  
  
Because Kyungsoo is not an ideal roommate, especially for a male. “I don’t want to be a burden for that long,” the elder lets out instead. “I don’t understand why it has to be six months.”  
  
“I said it before,” Jongin says with calculated slowness. “The reason why I came here to Alphabet City in the first place.”  
  
“For your writing?”  
  
“Yeah. That.” Jongin’s eyes slide down to his bare feet. He’s nervous. “It’s because of that, exactly.”  
  
“But what does that have to do with me staying for six —”  
  
“Kyungsoo hyung.” Jongin looks up, and his whole face is so red. “Do I really have to spell it out for you?”  
  
The air is tense as Kyungsoo works his way back through time, and Jongin waits anxiously.   
  
I can’t get a hold of what I’m supposed to be doing with my entry for a journal, Jongin had said.   
  
Roommates. Writer’s block. Broadway. Kimchi jiggae. Inspiration—  
  
Something clogs Kyungsoo’s throat. He coughs violently, and Jongin flushes an even deeper red.  
  
“You’re not going to write about me, are you?” Kyungsoo says when he’s able to breathe again, jaw dropping. “Or about this?”  
  
“No,” Jongin interjects hastily, waving his hands. “It’s something else. It’s very hard to explain…”  
  
Kyungsoo swallows hard. He feels lightheaded.  
  
“I wrote more than two pages today,” Jongin confesses. He scratches the shell of his ear. “I wrote something that I liked, finally. Before that, I just bullshitted my way through an entire paper.”  
  
“Isn’t that how writing’s supposed to work?” Kyungsoo finds himself saying.   
  
Jongin, who’s been the picture of unease as he tugs at the hem of his shirt, chuckles. “I find it easier, now.” He gestures at Kyungsoo quite shyly. “Since you were looking for a place to stay and this apartment’s kind of lonely for just one person, I thought that maybe we could… I wanted to tell you last Sunday, you know. Yesterday too, but I kind of chickened out. It’s a big favor to ask.”  
  
“It is,” Kyungsoo says. “For six months, I’m going to feel like an utter parasite.”  
  
Jongin’s grip tightens. “Please don’t think of it in that way, hyung. You’re not a freeloader or anything like that, because I want you here. I really want you here.”   
  
Startled, Kyungsoo pries Jongin’s fingers away from his wrist before the other can feel his heavy, thundering pulse. “You said it’s for graduation, right?” Kyungsoo says. “That journal entry?”  
  
Jongin nods. “It’ll give me enough credits to graduate. If it gets published, I’ll be okay. It took me a lot to convince my parents to let me pursue this, and I don’t want to disappoint them. They’re afraid that there’s not going to be much of a future for me when I told them I wanted to be a writer.” He’s rambling now, and his face morphs into that worried expression again, like a squashed paper cup, and Kyungsoo wants to pull him into a hug. “I want to prove to them that I’ll be fine.”  
  
Kyungsoo exhales loudly through his nose, his lips pursed into a thin line. He stumbles a bit on the carpet, before giving Jongin a few, encouraging pats on the back. “You’ll be fine,” Kyungsoo says, and he means it. He’s getting by with his half-baked films, and Jongin, who obviously has a lot of talent, will definitely be more than fine. “Stop scrunching your face so much, kid. Don’t worry.”  
  
Jongin cranes his neck to turn to him and nods again. “Thank you,” he says, and the smile is back.   
  
Kyungsoo sighs. “Six months, huh?” he mumbles.  _He’s just a kid who wants to write a great story_ , he tells himself and clings onto that thought, and tapes it to the walls in his mind so he won’t forget. “Until July?”  
  
“Yeah. That’s when the journal gets published,” Jongin says, his smile getting broader. “But you can stay longer if you want. You can stay forever. I won’t mind.”  
  
Kyungsoo stills for a while. “July sounds great, yeah,” he tactfully says after a minute of thinking and rethinking. “I think I’ll be able to manage.” 

****

  
  
  
“What have you been up to lately?”  
  
Kyungsoo hopes he’s not being too obvious as he avoids Baekhyun’s gaze. “I was fixing the audio. Chanyeol gave me a clear cut of your scene with Sunyoung last night. Sorry if I’m zoning out again.”  
  
“I wasn’t asking about the film, Soo,” Baekhyun says. His collar looks stiff, and Kyungsoo wants to smooth it out but his hands hold their ground. Maybe three years ago, he’d do it. But Taeyeon is just a table away talking to her friends. “Why are we always talking about the film?”  
  
“I don’t know. Isn’t that what we’re supposed to be talking about?”  
  
“Really?” Baekhyun sneers. He sets his glass down after he gulps a pint of wine. “Or should we have a life-changing discussion instead about that hack Michael Bay and his obsession with sun flares? I don’t know – you tell me.”  
  
Kyungsoo lets out an amused gurgle as he drinks. “Asshat.”  
  
“The most glorious asshat in all of America,” Baekhyun corrects. “Shouldn’t you be at home right now and not here in my neighborhood? Because you have more important things to do than get hilariously drunk with me here in my girlfriend’s bar? What’s so different tonight?”  
  
Kyungsoo gulps. “Shut up, Baekhyun,” he mumbles. “Tell me about auras or something. Make it sound like one of those boring documentaries they show on late-night cable.”  
  
“That’s Yixing and Chanyeol’s specialty.”   
  
“Okay. Just talk about something nonsensical if you don’t want to talk about work.”  
  
Baekhyun frowns and rolls his eyes. “You’re such a loser, Kyungsoo. Here I was thinking that we were going to have this normal, man-to-man bonding after so many months of having somebody constantly ramming a stick high up in your ass, but for the last fifteen minutes, you’ve just sat there on your stool and said absolutely nothing. Then I ask what the hell is going on and you fucking talk about work.” His nose wrinkles in displeasure. “You  _dragged_  me here because you’re obviously upset about something, and I thought, holy shit,  _finally_! Maybe I’m not such a useless dick to my best friend who’s done everything for me in the past decade – but ‘fixing the audio’? What the  _fuck_ , Kyungsoo? Seriously?”  
  
Kyungsoo hisses in satisfaction after downing his sake. “So I’m guessing we should really be talking about Bay, then?”  
  
“Fuck you,” Baekhyun grates, greatly upset. “Fuck you, son of a bitch. I’m going to have ten beautiful babies with that lady over there, and you’re going to end up sad and lonely and blue-balled, and your neighbor will find you dead in thirty years buried in your dorkass collection of moth-eaten sweaters.”   
  
Kyungsoo laughs. “You do know how to cheer me up,” he says, and he’s not being insincere. With Baekhyun rambling, Kyungsoo gets to tune out and think of everything else as background noise. Kyungsoo smiles at Baekhyun, his earlier trip to the bank and to the 9th precinct a bit of a blur in his mind already. “Thanks, Baek.”  
  
His friend looks thrown-off for a moment, before giving him an odd stare. “I’m definitely giving up on trying to understand you,” he proclaims, and Kyungsoo chuckles over the rim of his cup. 

****

  
  
  
There are no bell chimes on the S.K. Deli entrance, so Kyungsoo is more than surprised to find a familiar-looking boy checking out the boxes of microwavable dinners at the back aisle.  
  
Jongin playfully says he’s been searching for his muse again, and Kyungsoo rolls his eyes.  
  
“I call bullshit,” Kyungsoo says, and Jongin’s eyes twinkle as he laughs. “Go high or go home, kid. It’s late.” It’s more than late. It’s in fact one o’ clock in the morning, Friday night clocking in overtime an hour earlier.   
  
Jongin follows Kyungsoo and retaliates with, “It’s technically a weekend, so no school for me. And there’s nothing good on cable tonight, anyway.” He starts eyeing the knick-knacks at the top shelf—just cheese in packets and other dairy products. “I’m currently out of ideas for an important scene.” He leans next to the register with his elbows propping on the counter. “You should call this ‘brainstorming’ instead.”  
  
Kyungsoo snorts. His hands are jittery from the coffee Jongdae gave to him earlier. He’s not a fan of coffee, to be honest. Everyone just assumes that he likes it because of the inky bags under his eyes, which have darkened and deepened considerably in the past few days.  
  
Jongin purses his lips after a quick silence passes. “That reminds me, hyung. How do you write your script?”  
  
“I don’t know.” Kyungsoo shrugs. “I just do.”  
  
“What? That can’t be it,” Jongin says, furrowing his eyebrows. “Sack full of weed? Caramel bars? Bongo drums?”  
  
“Not everyone needs to go inspiration–shopping, or can afford to.”  
  
“Ahh. But your screenplays have to come from somewhere, right?” Jongin grins. “What gets to you enough to write them, anyway?”  
  
Kyungsoo licks the front of his teeth and hesitates. “When I’m angry,” he says slowly. “At something.” The bank. “At someone.” Seungsoo. “Or at everything.” The whole world. “I just… I just write. It’s not exactly the same with you and your stories, Jongin. Screenwriting requires a different kind of skill. Or temperament – I don’t know.” Kyungsoo sighs and flicks Jongin’s fingers away from making a mess with the salad boxes. “I’m not good at it.”  
  
“I don’t believe you. I’d have to watch your films for myself first.”  
  
“It’s not the kind you can watch on Netflix. Or Blu-ray.”  
  
Jongin chuckles. “You have your own copies, surely. The real deal. Unedited. Let’s make it our Friday night popcorn flicks, hyung. I’d feel so honored, watching it with the director of photography. And the producer. And the screenwriter.”  
  
“Shut up, kid,” Kyungsoo growls. His ears take on a pink tinge at the ends as he stretches himself over the countertop to give the Jongin a good whack.  
  
Jongin flashes him a soft grin after he straightens. “I’m sure it’ll be good.” His tone isn’t teasing anymore.  
  
“Prepare to be disappointed then,” Kyungsoo says with a dry smile of his own. “What about you, Mr. Writer? Shouldn’t you be scribbling your ideas on table napkins? We sell them for a dollar a packet.”  
  
Jongin cackles. “What, no discount for your number one customer?”  
  
Kyungsoo shakes his head. “Only for those at the bottom shelf of the labor market, I’m afraid.”  
  
“Wow. Thanks, economy,” Jongin says. “And nah, that’s utter bullshit. Even the pretentious writers don’t do that, and I’ve met a lot of them.”  
  
“So what are you writing about?”  
  
Jongin winks and grins, but doesn’t say anything.  
  
Kyungsoo tries to look hurt. “Why are you ‘brainstorming’ here, then? Shoo. You’re scaring away all the customers.”  
  
Jongin lets out a merry laugh, his mouth open so wide that Kyungsoo gets a good look of his uvula. “Who the hell would order a pack of on-the-go nachos at this hour?”  
  
“I would,” Kyungsoo admits sourly, and Jongin beams at him.  
  
“See, that’s why I’m here,” Jongin says. “Because you’re here.”  
  
Kyungsoo narrows his eyes, before looking down and saying, “That’s a very vague reason.” He keeps his gaze resolutely on the register. “I thought you said you weren’t writing about me.”   
  
“I’m not,” Jongin guarantees, and Kyungsoo peers at him. “It’s just because all the characters I’ve written so far are so flat. And you’re…” Jongin looks at him through his lashes, thinking. “You’re a little bit difficult, Kyungsoo hyung,” he says finally.  
  
Kyungsoo throws him a baffled look. What’s that supposed to mean? “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”  
  
Jongin chuckles, a bashful rose color spreading from his cheeks to the end of his lips. “It is! I thought I was good at reading people. It comes with ogling at everyone as a hobby, I guess, but you turned out to be such a shocker.” He sniggers again. “I hope you don’t mind my sticking around longer than necessary, is all.”  
  
“So you’re here stalking me, because you feel like your characters are a bit… stale?”   
  
“Stale is such a nice word,” Jongin says. “My characters, especially the protagonist, feel like they don’t exist. I want them to feel like they’re real.” He looks ahead, at the quiet, night life outside. “This isn’t my first rodeo, but sometimes… sometimes, I feel like there’s something important that I’m missing, as I write. All my first four drafts sucked, and my adviser thought so too, and I packed all my bags and moved here to Alphabet City after I got Dad’s permission. I thought getting away from the familiarity of Greenwich would help me.”  
  
“To get you inspired.”  
  
Jongin’s gaze on him is soft. “Yeah,” he answers, smiling.  
  
Maybe he’s not really meant to understand any of that, so Kyungsoo says, “You should meet the store manager. He likes to talk about Transcendentalism and things like that, whatever they are.” Jongdae had been nattering him non-stop about the correlation of Mother Nature and the Word of God. Kyungsoo cared about that as much as he cared about Yixing’s obsession with astrals and third-eyes, but Jongdae’s a really nice boss, so Kyungsoo had stayed quiet the entire time and pretended he was listening. “He’s… interesting.”  
  
“There are five  _teru teru bozus_  hanging on the glass windows of a Korean deli shop,” Jongin points out, chuckling after. “I can definitely bet he is.”  
  
“New York City’s crawling with whack-jobs,” Kyungsoo says. “One thing I still haven’t figured out is why there’s so many of them here.”  
  
“What makes you think you aren’t one of them already?” Jongin says, and he laughs as Kyungsoo throws him and unamused look. “Aww, don’t be like that. It’s what makes you interesting. I’m not going to write about you like I promised, but you’re a good muse.”  
  
“You’re going to get bored of me soon, though,” Kyungsoo says. “If you really want some riveting characters for your stories, I could set you up with Baekhyun. Luhan’s a good candidate too, but that dude is extremely horny that he’ll probably be eating your ass most of time and you won’t get any writing done.”  
  
“Is he any good?” Jongin says with a smirk, and then guffaws at Kyungsoo’s wide-eyed expression. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. Sure, I’d love to meet your friends someday. That Baekhyun guy definitely got me curious. You talk about him a lot.”  
  
Kyungsoo’s gaze flickers at the ceiling as he ponders about it. “Well, yeah. We’ve known each other for a long time. Too long, if you ask me.”  
  
“Lucky guy,” Jongin says, and Kyungsoo’s palms turn sweaty. This kid really likes saying cheesy stuff.

****

  
  
  
Junmyeon thankfully shows up for the filming at the dance studio. There’s a big, fat, black-blue bruise on his left eye, though, that no amount of make-up Sunyoung and Baekhyun applied could cover it up. Kyungsoo calls for a last minute rewrite of the script, and has Baekhyun, Junmyeon and two extras memorize their new lines for fifteen minutes.  
  
Junmyeon leaves the studio without Yifan, his boyfriend, after the shoot, though no one knows exactly why. Kyungsoo has an idea, but he isn’t sure. Junmyeon hadn’t said anything, so nobody asked. Personal problems are off-limits at work; they’re something that shouldn’t be seen in front of the cameras.  
  
“I’ll be heading off, hyung,” Sehun says after he’s cleaned up. He pats Kyungsoo lightly on the back.  
  
Kyungsoo nods. “Yeah, thanks. You did great.” He’s just finished checking the master shot and the close-ups they’ve got. Kyungsoo would be honestly surprised if Sehun doesn’t graduate the top of his class after seeing his perfect coverage of the scene. “Have fun with Chanyeol.”  
  
Sehun’s face colors. “I’m not going to hang out with Chanyeol hyung.”  
  
“Oh yeah? Then why is he waiting for you at the back door?” Kyungsoo says sagely, and Sehun pulls a face.  
  
“Get home safely,” Sehun mumbles, and Kyungsoo would laugh if his voice didn’t echo in the almost empty room that eerily.  
  
The door click shut, and Kyungsoo goes through the storyboard again, making tiny block of notes at the ends and encircling them. He pauses at the shot where Junmyeon makes a strange face, snickers, and rewinds the clip just for the hell of it.  
  
His phone buzzes, and Kyungsoo flips it open.  
  
It’s a text from his roommate.  _I bought too many donuts._  
  
Kyungsoo cracks a smile. He types  _Of course you did_  before slamming it shut.  
  
His phone buzzes again after a half-minute.  _s.o.s.?_    
  
Kyungsoo can already picture Jongin struggling to send a message on his iPhone while balancing boxes of donuts on one hand, and Kyungsoo finds it cute for some reason.  
  
_I don’t like sweet stuff_ _  
_  
_Then who the hell owns those three jars of nutella in the cupboard, hyung? ^_^_  
  
Jongin caught him there. Kyungsoo snorts and types  _I’d ask the crew to eat them for you, but I’m alone now._  
  
The reply is instant.  _Where are you?_  
  
_Still at e 3rd._  
  
_Be there in ten minutes :)_  
  
Kyungsoo’s fingers fumble as he hastily keys in,  _Ok_. He licks his lips and continues scribbling notes on his storyboard.  
  
Jongin arrives at twelve with too many boxes of Krispy Kreme donuts. His school bag is slung haphazardly, with one strap slipping to his deltoid. He smiles as soon as he sees Kyungsoo sprawled on the pristine floor of the studio.  
  
“I’m surprised the receptionist allowed you to bring food in here,” Kyungsoo says as Jongin takes a seat next to him. He opens a can of cola and gulps.  
  
“Might’ve flirted with her a little. She’s hot,” Jongin says, adjusting his snapback to show a streak of freshly-dyed brown hair, and Kyungsoo’s stomach fizzes along with the drink that travels down his throat. “I wouldn’t mind dating her if she wasn’t taken.”  
  
Kyungsoo lets out a shaky breath when he finishes. Jongin offers him a dulce de leche with his sticky fingers. “Is she?” Kyungsoo says. “How did you know?”  
  
“Her boyfriend is her home screen wallpaper.” Jongin grins, and Kyungsoo makes a mock grimace. “Her phone was on the countertop and I noticed.”  
  
“You’re shameless,” Kyungsoo remarks, and he lets Jongin feed him more donuts when he realizes how hungry he really is. He hasn’t had lunch yet.  
  
They munch through two boxes—Kyungsoo eating the bulk of it—with only four leftovers remaining. Jongin makes an off-handed remark something along the lines of, “I don’t like sweet stuff, my ass”, chuckling as he says it, and Kyungsoo flips his finger at him.  
  
The mirrors are everywhere. Kyungsoo can steal glances at Jongin without looking at the boy directly if he wants to.  
  
“So this is how you work?” Jongin points at Junmyeon’s face on the screen and at the stacks of paper on the floor. “Are you making comedy?”  
  
Kyungsoo slams his laptop shut. “Nah, that’s just Junmyeon hyung’s regular acting face. And you shouldn’t see the movie yet if it isn’t finished.”  
  
“Ahh,” Jongin says, bobbing his head up and down in an exaggerated manner. They scoot to the corner, leaning their heads on the soundproof walls. “Is it bad luck?”  
  
“Uh-huh. It might turn into a chick-flick comedy like you’ve said, and I don’t want that to happen.”  
  
Jongin falls silent and only gives him a look, before leaning in and cupping Kyungsoo’s chin with his hand. He presses his thumb at the end of Kyungsoo’s mouth and wipes. The finger comes off with a speck of white powder.   
  
The action’s too fast for it to mean anything, but Kyungsoo’s eyes still bulge out of its sockets. His stricken expression reflects back from the mirrors, and he flushes even harder despite himself.  
  
Jongin smiles like he hasn’t done anything to warrant the erratic pulse on Kyungsoo’s flushed neck.   
  
“You know, some people would mind if you do that,” Kyungsoo says finally, breathless. “Skinship is weird for Americans. Just a word of advice.”  
  
“Oh.” Jongin’s smile drops a fraction. “Do you mind?”  
  
Kyungsoo swallows. “Umm… not particularly. But for pretty receptionists with gym-instructor boyfriends, it’s practically an open invitation for a beating in a dark alley somewhere.”  
  
“I know. I’ve lived in this city since I was born. I know what you’re talking about.”  
  
Kyungsoo finds this new information surprising, but files it away to the back of his mind for next time. “Oh. Okay. Just in case you forgot or something.”  
  
Jongin scrunches his face, as if he finds that funny. “I won’t,” he says. “I know America’s different from Korea. I’ve been told that  _a lot_.”  
  
“Er…” Kyungsoo places a hand on his forehead. “I guess? A lot of people are still dicks, wherever you go. Americans are just more blatant, I think. And less coddling.”  
  
“People baby me a lot, even here. I’m not sure why that is. But I’m not complaining, though. It’s great,” Jongin says. “But it’s definitely better that I finally met someone I want to take care of.” He eyes Kyungsoo meaningfully before lowering his cap. “If he lets me, that is.”  
  
“Are you asking for my permission?” Kyungsoo says before he can clamp a hand to his mouth. Jongin doesn’t respond, and Kyungsoo can’t see his expression when the older man turns to look at him again.  
  
Kyungsoo’s thoughts are a mess, but he puts a hand on Jongin’s arm and squeezes it. “Hey,” Kyungsoo whispers. “Didn’t you say you were part of your high school’s dance troupe before?” He feels every shift of the muscles on Jongin’s forearm under his palm.   
  
“I still am,” Jongin mumbles. “I mean, I joined one in my first year in university. Mandatory. It’s part of taking dancing as a minor.”  
  
Kyungsoo slaps his shoulder. “I have this studio booked for three more hours. Dance to your heart’s content.”  
  
“I can’t do that,” Jongin says, voice whiney and shy. His eyes peek from his snapback. “You’re here.”  
  
“What’s wrong with dancing in front of your hyung?” Kyungsoo chuckles. He pushes Jongin by the thigh. “You guys like it better when there’s an audience, anyway. Get up, Jongin.”  
  
Jongin relents with a half-smile and smoothes his rumpled plaid shirt. He slowly rises and offers his hand to Kyungsoo. “Won’t you dance with me?”  
  
Kyungsoo shakes his head adamantly. “I can’t dance even if I tried,” he replies, shifting his butt to a more comfortable position. He opens his laptop. “I’ll DJ for you.”  
  
Jongin hesitates before gliding to the center of the room. His eyes are heavy on Kyungsoo’s reflection on the mirror, and a jolt of electricity runs through Kyungsoo’s spine.   
  
Averting his eyes, Kyungsoo opens a Jazz playlist, ups the volume to one hundred, and presses play.   
Jongin runs a hand through his hair and pulls out his snapback and outstretches his hand to the mirror. He starts.  
  
Kyungsoo tucks his hands in between the scratchy denim of his pants and his laptop as he watches. There’s something characteristic with Jongin’s positioning of his hands, his feet. There are no words to describe it, the way Jongin moves when he dances. Jongin dances with his hips rather than with his legs, and perhaps that’s why Kyungsoo’s eyes are so drawn to the center, to the fluidity of Jongin’s spine and to the lithe whirl of his waist. Kyungsoo gets to see every follow-through with great detail that there’s no shag or disjointedness to it. At each syncopation of  _Blue Monday_ ’s soundtrack, Jongin does something unexpected too, like a sudden shuffle of feet, or a jut of his pelvis.

 

He moves his arms, holding them akimbo with palms open and wrists flexed.

 

It’s breathtaking.

 

Kyungsoo wishes he could capture this on film to carefully go over later – he’s not capable enough to see Jongin’s movements as beautifully and accurately as he wishes to with his bad vision.  
  
Then, Jongin does an obscene-looking hip thrust with an equally obscene-looking expression on his face, and Kyungsoo’s jaw drops. Jongin’s face grows smug, and he laughs freely, before ending the song with a bow.   
  
“That was —” Kyungsoo doesn’t know whether he should clap his hands or not. “— wow. You’re really — you’re really good.” He chokes down other words he wants to say. “You weren’t kidding, kid. Wow.”  
  
“Well, I have to be good.” Jongin pants. His tan skin is flushed and dripping with sweat, his mop of mahogany hair barely concealing the brightness in his eyes. “I’ve been dancing since I was a kid and I practice almost every day. I can’t be  _not_  good.”  
  
Kyungsoo’s mouth is expended of words. “Wow,” he says again. Who knew this kid who scribbles poems about sunflowers at the last page of his notebooks and licks chicken grease off plates can dance like that? “Who the hell are you, Kim Jongin?”  
  
Jongin’s eyes crinkle in obvious pleasure. He really likes it when Kyungsoo compliments him, even if the elder doesn’t have much of an expansive vocabulary to offer much at all.   
  
“I’m just your average, neighbor-turned-roommate-under-extenuating-circumstances who loves to dance and wants to be a full-time novelist someday.” Jongin grins. He sifts through his bag and takes out a cotton towel to wipe his face. “And who are you, Do Kyungsoo hyung? I didn’t know you were into George Gershwin.”  
  
“I listen to RnB more than Jazz, but I like good music in general,” Kyungsoo says as Jongin takes a seat next to him. Jongin’s distinct scent is so potent that it makes Kyungsoo slightly dizzy. He hands Jongin a bottle of water to distract himself.  
  
“Yeah, me too. That’s why I like hearing your own rendition of Brown Eyed Girls at the shower every morning,” Jongin teases, the corners of his lips tilting up and turning Kyungsoo’s insides into a pile of mush in just seconds.

****

  
  
“Hey.”  
  
Kyungsoo looks up. There’s a glass of sake thrust to his direction. He looks down again.  
  
“What’s your name?”  
  
Kyungsoo’s grip on his pen grows hard as he jots down the character list on his journal. He’s been planning the structure of close-ups of the cast in order of importance since yesterday and only just got to the final arrangement that panned out well in his head. “You don’t have to know,” Kyungsoo mutters, earning a greasy chuckle from the other man.  
  
“If someone buys you a drink, you ought to accept,” he says.  
  
Kyungsoo replies, “How much Trazadone have you put in that one?”  
  
The man falls silent, and Kyungsoo takes it a sign to finally give the blond stranger a glare.  
  
The man backs up from the counter and leaves. Kyungsoo sighs, waving at Taeyeon who just came in for her shift. “Throw this one away,” Kyungsoo informs her, slipping easily back to Korean as he nudges the drink the man left. “It’s spiked.”  
  
Taeyeon models her mouth into an ‘o’. “Still popular with the white guys, I see. The wrong kind at that.” She frowns and dumps the contents in the metal sink embedded on the marble surfacing of the bar.   
  
“At least they’re ones I can handle,” Kyungsoo mutters tiredly, and Taeyeon gives him a questioning look but doesn’t comment. “Can I have a glass, please? Hopefully not another one with concentrated chemicals for sleeping pills.”  
  
Taeyeon does an army salute. “Coming right up. And I’ll place it on Baekhyun’s tab, of course.”  
  
Kyungsoo grins. “Thanks.”

****

  
  
  
“You got us tickets to see a skateboard competition?” Jongin exclaims. His backpack is hastily slung over his shoulders, one side slipping low again on his arm. He looks out of breath. “God, I’ve never been into a skateboarding competition before.”  
  
“Me neither,” Kyungsoo says. He files to one side to make way for the dozen kids running around with their longboards and guides Jongin by the small of his back towards the line for the entrance. “Don’t worry. Your hyung is pretty cheap. I got them for three dollars each. They usually sell them at ten.”  
  
Jongin sniggers. “You didn’t need to tell me that.” He scans the slopes of the grounds excitedly, the heels of his shoes doing that happy, bouncy thing again. It makes Kyungsoo crack a small smile from the side.   
  
Jongin had rushed out of his CW 323 class as soon as it ended and took the 4 pm bus when Kyungsoo suddenly texted him to meet up at the make-shift rink near FDR. Kyungsoo felt terribly guilty seeing Jongin panting and sweaty at the driveway, until the younger man closed in the distance and laughed as he pinched Kyungsoo’s cheeks.  
  
They hand over their ticket to the teenager in an outfitter suit. Jongin nudges him as soon as they enter. “Why did you ask me on a date all of a sudden, hyung?”  
  
Kyungsoo cranes his neck to look at him. A date? “Is that what this is?”  
  
“Well,” Jongin replies not so smoothly. “Are we not… on a date?”  
  
Kyungsoo scratches his neck distractedly. “I don’t know. I’ve always thought you liked this sort of stuff. You never fail to watch SLS whenever it’s on, so I thought… maybe you’d get inspired after seeing something you like.” He licks his lips. The ticket stubs are heavy on his hand, so he stuffs them in his wallet. “I guess it’s a date, then.”  
  
Jongin looks away. “Oh, so this is about writing.”   
  
“Of course,” Kyungsoo answers with a light shrug. “That’s why I’m here, right?”  
  
They course through the barrier of people in black t-shirts, and when they’ve reached the area where the crowd starts to thin does Jongin speak. “Thanks, Kyungsoo hyung,” he says earnestly. “Thank you for always thinking of me.”  
  
Kyungsoo coughs and coughs. “Y-yeah, sure. No problem, Jongin.” He thinks of any other things to say as he rubs his nape. Nothing comes. “No problem at all.”  
  
They head to the back of the bleachers, meandering through the small crowd of enthusiasts young and old. The rink has already been set up, and the judges are lined up at the farthest section of the dome, where the starting line for the contestants is crisscrossed with crepe paper and fly boards.   
  
“I haven’t been on a date in years,” Jongin says all of a sudden, winking, and Kyungsoo glares at him fiercely. He swears that Jongin gets a kick out of making him all flustered and stuff. What a kid.   
  
Kyungsoo picks at a loose piece of thread on his wool sweater. “Why? Too busy?”  
  
“No. It’s not that…” He leans his free hand on the back railing. “I’m always thinking — _imagining_  — how a date would be like. It’s like having an ideal type for a girl or something.”  
  
“So a lot of people asked you out before, and you didn’t accept because of that?”  
  
“It’s more like I wouldn’t notice.” Jongin chuckles. “I’d be too wrapped out dreaming about dating than actually going out with someone.”  
  
“… What’s your ideal date then?”  
  
“A quiet dinner at a small restaurant. Or a long, long talk at some cute coffee shop downtown.”  
  
Kyungsoo rolls his eyes. “You hate coffee.”  
  
“I’ve always assumed my special someone would like coffee. I’m willing to go through the torture,” Jongin whispers, wrapping a light arm around Kyungsoo’s shoulders.  
  
“You’re such a sap, kid. I pity your future girlfriend.”  
  
“No way. Being loved by me would be pretty fucking awesome,” Jongin says cheerfully.   
  
It’d take a lot of effort to disagree, Kyungsoo figures, so he chuckles instead. “There’s bound to be someone who’d like your shit, particularly,” he says. “Sorry if this isn’t up to par with your cheesy dating standards.”  
  
Jongin’s eyes squint charmingly as he laughs. “I was in high school when I came up with it. Sue me.” He pulls away, but not so soon that it leaves a lingering weight on Kyungsoo’s neck. “None of my friends ever took me out on something as cool as this, though,” he hums. “Even if this wasn’t up to my ‘cheesy dating standards’, I’m still considering this as a date.”  
  
Kyungsoo snorts, and Jongin nudges him playfully on the ribs. “I’m not teasing you, hyung. It’s still a date. Our date.”  
  
“Sure, sure.” Kyungsoo nudges him back as the crowd roars. The first contestant has already flown straight to the meanest edge of the ten-foot platform. Jongin whoops along with the discordant chanting, and Kyungsoo angles back on the steel supports. 

****

  
  
  
He finds a note pasted on his water bottle when he checks the fridge:  
  
_Carolers that flock at the end_ _  
_of the rainbow_  
_Take heed and beware_  
_of the pewter of gold —_  
_And the jealous leprechaun_  
_who cannot sing__  
  
“What the fuck.” Kyungsoo puts a hand over his mouth and snorts. He snorts again, and again, until his shoulders start to shake and he’s hiccupping and doubling over and making all sorts of funny noises like an old car having engine trouble.  
  
His cheeks hurt from smiling too much as he stuffs the post-it between the flaps of his wallet, along with the dozen other silly poetry verses and smiley faces.

 

****

  
  
  
There are more than three knocks on the door. Jongin’s probably withering on his bed, fast asleep, so Kyungsoo takes it upon himself to check. He stubs his toe on the foot of the chair in his haste, and things start going downhill when he turns the knob.  
  
“Hi there.” Baekhyun’s smile is wide, too wide. Kyungsoo gulps, and did a needle drop somewhere in the silence?  
  
“W-what are you —” Kyungsoo falls back from the doorway. “Baekhyun, what are you doing here?”  
  
“I was in the neighborhood,” Baekhyun says cheerfully, the skin around his eyes darkened with coal. Tight jeans and methodically ripped denim jacket – Baekhyun’s uniform during Saturday nights for his second part-time job, or is it third? Kyungsoo honestly hasn’t been keeping up with the slew of chaos that is his friend’s schedule. Baekhyun obviously came straight here to East 6th from work. “And I thought I could just drop in like I usually do when I’m dead bored and Taeyeon’s battling the crimson war. But Unit 3 was empty and so I thought, maybe the neighbor knows what my best friend’s been up to lately.”  
  
Baekhyun claps his hands. “And I was right! More than right. Goddamn it, I’m so good at this.”  
  
“Baekhyun,” Kyungsoo says carefully. “I can explain.”  
  
Baekhyun throws back his head and laughs, laughs so hard that his hand flies to the doorframe to steady himself, and Kyungsoo hushes him and yanks him inside. He’s still laughing, and Kyungsoo rams his handkerchief into his friend’s mouth.  
  
“Keep it down, Baek! You’re going to wake Jongin up,” Kyungsoo hisses, annoyed.  
  
Baekhyun throws him an incredulous look and spits out the cloth. “What in the world?” He plonks ungracefully on the couch, sprawling his legs in a ‘v’. “What the fuck is going on, Do Kyungsoo? Why do you even care about the kid? Why are you even at his place? Are you guys dating –”  
  
“Could you shut your trap for one second? God, I knew you were going to react like this.” Kyungsoo rubs his temples and closes the door. He throws Baekhyun a murderous glare.   
  
“I ran into a problem with rent,” Kyungsoo says and Baekhyun visibly stills. He takes the empty space right next to the man. “I was a little short on money. Jongin offered to help me for a while.”  
  
Baekhyun’s normally slit-like eyes turn wide into saucers. “And you accepted? You, who’d rather get run over eighty times than have someone hold your hand while crossing the road? Wait, why didn’t you even tell me about this?”  
  
Kyungsoo holds onto the leather of the couch tightly. “How could I?” he says, voice deathly low. “How could I, Baekhyun, after everything that happened?”  
  
Baekhyun’s expression grows rock hard, stealth mode. Kyungsoo looks away, that specific emotion that he’s been pushing back at the peripheries for years brimming to the surface. He can feel Baekhyun’s gaze on him, boring holes at the side of his face, and he swallows all the unwanted feelings to that empty, desolate space in his mind where it belongs.  
  
“Kyungsoo,” Baekhyun says after a while. “I’m not angry. At all. Just please look at me, okay? See, I’m not angry anymore. I’m only surprised. I thought we told each other everything, even the bad stuff. And this is very, very big, bad stuff.”  
  
That look of sympathy was the very thing Kyungsoo had wanted to avoid. He squares his jaw and responds, “You have other things to worry about. And this is nothing compared to your problems, Baek, so please stop giving me that look or I’m going to punch you.”  
  
Baekhyun laughs, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. “We’re not competing for the world’s shittiest life, are we? And Mom will get better. The doctor says she will. Let’s just give her some more time.” He crosses his arms. “Why didn’t you say something? If you needed money, I could always –”  
  
“You know as well as I do that’s a lie,” Kyungsoo fires back. “You’re dirt poor. And if you’re going to start again by asking me to crash on your apartment I’m going to maul you. You have a girlfriend.”  
  
“So Kim Jongin is the next best thing?” Baekhyun says, relinquishing, but still displeased. “And from my understanding your neighbor knows absolutely nothing about you or you about him, and yet suddenly you’re living together? Is this a badly-written sitcom? What happened?”  
  
“The kid happened,” Kyungsoo exhales steadily, glad that the eye of the storm went somewhere else. “He heard me and the landlady talking. Remember that day when he asked you to pick me up at G&G? I was told that I was going to have to move if I didn’t pay for rent in two days, and Jongin took me out for drinks and offered to pay for it.”  
  
“And you said no, obviously. So you were—”  
  
“Thrown out, yeah.” Kyungsoo grimaces at the ceiling with its chipping paint. “Well, sort of. Jongin asked me to move in with him, and that’s why I’m here.”  
  
Baekhyun frowns. “That doesn’t sound right. I asked you to live with me even before we dated — groveled at your feet a thousand times — and you never accepted.”  
  
“Jongin’s really got an awful lot of spirit for his age.” Kyungsoo remembers the way Jongin had taken him by the shoulders. And after, how his fingers had been light but inescapable around Kyungsoo’s wrist, not letting him go. It’s strange, how Jongin could be both tender and steady. More importantly, Jongin makes Kyungsoo feel strange. “He doesn’t know how to give up.”  
  
Baekhyun gawks at him, mouth wide open. “I knew it. I knew this Jongin person was going to crash into your life one way or another.”  
  
“He’s a writer. Or at least he wants to be,” Kyungsoo says. “He’s a kid who needs help. You know what it’s like, how it goes.”  
  
“That’s very macho of you, Soo, but you can’t even set your own life straight.” Baekhyun’s voice is clipped, a branch snapping under a weight of a robin’s nest. “Why do you fucking always care so much?”  
  
“I don’t. I fucking  _don’t_. He says he needs me, and I — I need him, Baek, in a different sense,” Kyungsoo says. He recalls something Jongin told him, when they made their pact. “We’re helping each other out.”  
  
“But how are you going to manage it?” Baekhyun asks. “Didn’t you tell me you always get a hard-on whenever the kid’s nearby?”  
  
Kyungsoo slaps his palms on the couch when he straightens up to look at Baekhyun. He growls, “What? When did I tell you that?”  
  
“When I first came for a knitting tutorial, you said your dick had turned into some Kim Jongin radar,” Baekhyun says, and snickers. He eyes the shoes on the rack near the telephone cord, Jongin’s dusty, boat-size sneakers right next to Kyungsoo’s loafers, and snickers again. “I wasn’t the only one who drank all those beers.”  
  
Kyungsoo lets out a mighty oath. Of course he tells Baekhyun the stupidest things under influence.   
  
“You’re not being subtle either, going by that look on your face,” Baekhyun intones. “I can understand, though. He’s really something.”  
  
“Well, you haven’t seen the way he dances,” Kyungsoo says darkly, his face twisting in dismay when he remembers that almost lewd hip thrust Jongin pulled in the dance studio. “It was terrible.”   
  
Baekhyun laughs out loud, and Kyungsoo is grateful that Jongin’s a heavy sleeper—he might not wake up to that at all. “Man, I would be so sorry for you if this wasn’t so hilarious.”   
  
Kyungsoo glares at him. “Thanks so much.”  
  
“Alright, alright. Real talk now. I know you vowed that you’d never let your attraction to hot guys be your ‘defining trait’ or whatever shit you said,” Baekhyun says after he’s laughed again. “But you’re not exactly a hundred and eight, Kyungsoo. Your libido is just as strong as mine.”  
  
“Now that’s just plain weird.” Kyungsoo wrinkles his nose. He’s not going to agree. He won’t. “Stop making it weird. I’m his hyung. I’m not supposed to think about those things, and he’s my roommate.”  
  
“That’s my point,” Baekhyun contests. “You’re doomed, Kyungsoo. Jongin’s nice and smart and he looks like a helluva lay. Your relationship will be anything but normal.”  
  
Kyungsoo remembers Jongin’s earlier comment about the dance studio’s receptionist and says, “Not everyone is gay, Baekhyun.”  
  
“He doesn’t  _have_  to be gay to have sex with you, Kyungsoo.”  
  
“Gross.” Kyungsoo groans. “Jongin’s still a kid. A nice kid. I’m going to respect that.”  
  
“He’s already past legal age. Both in Korea and in America,” Baekhyun chuckles. “Might as well get that shit over with. It’s not like you’re corrupting the kid, and you’re definitely not going to end up in jail for having sex with a twenty-three-year-old. Six years ain’t such a long gap if you ask me or social services.”  
  
“I’m not going to bang the guy who’s letting me live here for free,” Kyungsoo says as he blushes. Baekhyun is feeding him some nasty images that he’d rather not think about. “I’ll keep my libido in check. You can bet on that.”  
  
Baekhyun makes a small whine of disappointment and says, “And I thought I was going to see some action in your lackluster sex life. So you’re just going to stick with your motto and have boring tête-à-têtes with the guy whose body’s practically begging to be fucked?”  
  
“For six months,” Kyungsoo says with poorly concealed mortification. “That’s the plan.”  
  
“A very stupid plan,” Baekhyun declares. “But why? What’s wrong with Jongin?”  
  
“He’s nice,” Kyungsoo explains. He remembers Jongin handing him a paper towel first when Kyungsoo spilled chicken soup all over their fronts, even if the stain on Jongin’s corduroy pants would probably cost a lot more to remove in the drycleaners. “He’s very nice.” And there’s that one time Jongin took a taxi all the way to Gramercy Park and gave Kyungsoo the equipment he’d forgotten in the living room. “He’s the kind of nice without any ulterior motives. I hate that.”  
  
“Gosh, you’re so unreasonable,” Baekhyun’s cackle doesn’t betray the sharpness in his eyes. He nudges Kyungsoo’s foot. “Everyone’s looking for nice guys to date and here you are.”  
  
“I’m not looking for someone to date, Baekhyun.”  
  
“Dumbass. I’m implying that you  _do_  need someone. You’re a dry lake.”  
  
“I thought we were talking about sex.”  
  
“You can always fuck Jongin  _and_ date him,” Baekhyun says, shaking his head. “The fuck are you on, anyway? Sometimes, I wonder who the smart one really is.”  
  
Kyungsoo rolls his eyes. “I don’t  _want_  to fuck Jongin, and I don’t  _want_  to date him. Does that settle things now?”  
  
“No,” Baekhyun says. “You might be telling the truth now, but in a few months, if I ask you again, the answer won’t be the same.” He looks over Kyungsoo’s shoulder, an odd expression on his face. “In all the times I’ve known you, Kyungsoo, you’ve never learned how to land soft.”   
  
“That’s bullshit,” Kyungsoo says, and he thinks that, well, maybe it’s sort of true. He thinks about Jongin, his hand pressed on his pillow as he snores, making an imprint that lasts till morning. He thinks of Jongin dancing, of Jongin looking over the window and watching a plane fly by at night. Someone delicate could never be meant for someone as hard as Kyungsoo.   
  
They always break.  
  
“I can’t have nice guys,” Kyungsoo explains. He decides to play with his hair, threading the strands with his fingers. “Their kindness isn’t something I can repay easily.”  
  
Baekhyun turns to him completely. He pauses for a while, before replying, “Is that the most ridiculous reason you can come up with?” When Kyungsoo doesn’t answer, he sighs. “Marvelous. Now I know why you dated me for two years.”  
  
Baekhyun isn’t exactly soft, but he’s weak in all the spots Kyungsoo had destroyed. “And that’s why I’m still friends with you,” Kyungsoo says. “Douchebags have to stick together.”  
  
Baekhyun throws a knowing look at Jongin’s locked room, and then turns back to Kyungsoo and sends him a frown. “Well, I wish you luck on your future endeavors. With the way things are looking, it’s not going to be a smooth ride back home.”

****

  
  
  
Spring clouds softly kiss the tips of the high rises when morning breaks. The sun gently peeks behind, rays tentatively reaching the ground as if asking permission to warm it, and when noon comes, it finally gains its confidence.   
  
With the scenic weather, Kyungsoo shows Jongin around the neighborhood. Some of the graffiti are not a fancy sight — like the one just past Avenue C with a painting of a half-naked woman surrounded by the words  _world music for lagina, www.lavagina.com_  — but the murals down the Projects are really good.  
  
A Latino boy is crouching low on the wall with a barbed fence, painting skeletons on a bed of flowers. His Converse are white with splotches of yellow and black. “Good morning, fellas! How’d you do?” he greets when he notices Kyungsoo and Jongin admiring his artwork from afar.   
  
Jongin gawks as he waves, while Kyungsoo greets him back with the shitty Spanish he acquired from living in Alphabet City.  
  
Kyungsoo starts humming under his breath. “Are you inspired yet?” he says, when they’ve strolled past a diner.  
  
Jongin snickers. “Are you that particularly anxious to get rid of me?” he quips, tone light and friendly. “I am. It was definitely a good idea to come down here and rent a place. Tao was definitely right.”  
  
“Tao?”  
  
“Tao for Zitao. A friend of mine in college. He’s in a different focus, though. Chinese literature. He’s Chinese.”  
  
“He suggested you rent a place here?”  
  
“Well, sort of.” Jongin places a hand around his neck. “I kinda read about this place on a comic book. You know X-Men, right? District X was in Alphabet City.” He angles his head, a shy smile in place and a pink tinge creeping to his cheeks.  _Cute_ , Kyungsoo’s brain says suddenly. “I got curious about it, and Tao said it was a good place to set my imagination free.”  
  
“I’m not much of a fan of comic books,” Kyungsoo says. They turn to a bend where the colors of the walls start to turn vibrant, curtains of aerosol paint and solvents covering the enormous expanse of the community boundaries. “But that’s umm… that’s nice?”  
  
Jongin is looking at him with a curl of amusement. They surge through the entryways riddled with people, and round the small cul-de-sac where the street art ends. Jongin makes quirky poses in front of a gigantic mural of Vegeta, and Kyungsoo, laughing, offers to take pictures of him using Jongin’s smartphone.  
  
They arrive at the corner of St. Mark’s after a few more minutes of aimless strolling. Jongin’s phone gets loaded with tons of pictures of him doing silly stuff with the fire hydrants, the signage, the crooked lampposts. They make a pit stop at Yaffa Café — Kyungsoo surreptitiously takes a picture of Jongin groping the pulp fiction décor — to eat crepe, and then they make quick detour to the nearby comic book store, where Jongin combs the racks for Issue # 127 of New X-Men.  
  
Jongin jams the page on Kyungsoo’s face quite proudly. “And here’s District X. Hey, this one looks like our apartment building!”  
  
“It’s in flames,” Kyungsoo wisely points out, and Jongin laughs.  
  
They pass by a rundown brick house colored in a rusty brown more than a venerable shade of gold. Kyungsoo grabs the younger man’s wrist and says, “This was the home of Anne Waldman. She’s pretty old, likes wearing scarves in the middle of summer and all, but she’s nice. I think she moved out a couple of years ago.”  
  
“I’ve read  _Jaguar Harmonics_  and  _In The Room of The Never Grieve_  thousands of times,” Jongin says in awe. “How did you know I was a fan?”  
  
Kyungsoo wets his lip. “Her poems are… unconventional. Plus she’s a fervent activist for social reforms and all that. You’d hit it off at tea parties or something.”  
  
“I definitely would.” Jongin squeezes his hand lightly. “I should be offended, though. You make me sound like I’m only into weird stuff.”  
  
“Aren’t you?”  
  
“Not really,” Jongin replies. “For example, I read Stephanie Perkins from time to time.”  
  
“Now that’s  _definitely_  weird.” Kyungsoo chuckles. “I don’t read a lot of books, but doesn’t she make cutesy romance novels for teens?”  
  
“I’m also a fan of teen cutesy romance, hyung,” Jongin says, pouting. “It’s not a sin to indulge.”  
  
Jongin’s hand is a sweltering hot ball of mass on his palm. “I guess it’s not,” Kyungsoo answers. He then snaps a photo of Jongin in front of the poet’s old home three times. The wind slightly eased around the third shot, catching Jongin’s coat in mid-flap with his fringe falling softly over his forehead. Jongin’s more of a model than a creative writing college student when he’s not doing childish poses.  
  
“Hyung, hey!” Jongin beckons. They’ve walked across the street, stopping in front of Theater 80. A car slightly honks at them as it leaves for the driveway. “Let’s take a selca together.”  
  
Kyungsoo stares at him curiously. “You mean right now?”  
  
“Yeah, I mean right now. A celebratory selca for our second date. We didn’t take one on our first,” Jongin teases, and he wraps his arm around Kyungsoo’s waist and huddles too close for comfort, making Kyungsoo’s breath hitch as he yelps. “Wow. You’re so skinny.” He grins, placing his fingers on the jut of Kyungsoo’s hipbone. “And to think that you were hounding me yesterday about eating right.”  
  
“You hold the camera,” Kyungsoo instructs. His voice cracks at the end. Embarrassing. “My arms are too short.”  
  
Jongin laughs loudly at that, his mouth opening incredibly wide, before mashing the side of his face against Kyungsoo’s cheek. He angles the phone above them. Kyungsoo’s smile is as stiff as a twig, and Jongin resorts to tickling his side and takes the photo just as soon as a hint of teeth appears between Kyungsoo’s lips.  
  
Jongin checks the photo again. He smiles broadly. “Thanks,” he says, and fiddles with the options until their selca becomes Jongin’s lock screen. He pockets his phone. “Where to, captain?”  
  
“Let’s go grab lunch. It’s late,” Kyungsoo says. His legs feel like they’re going to break under him from all the walking.

****

  
  
  
His bicycle seat is wrapped in a plastic bag again.  
  
Except it’s not raining today. It’s a cloudy day in March; no stream of sunlight can pass through the grey puffs above but there’s no sign of a downpour yet, and it’s kind of a relief. Kyungsoo watched the weather report last night with Jongin, munching through seedless grapes as he went over his plans for the next day. He initially thought the small trip to the community garden at 9th was all shot, but it didn’t rain.   
  
Kyungsoo thanks the nameless stranger for thinking ahead all the same, and unchains his bike.  
  
He swivels through the streets, careful not to stray towards the bus lane, and ducks at the twelve foot wooden foundation a duo of workers are carrying as they cross the road. The ash trees on the sidewalk are guarded by steel fences, and the bikes are chained to rusting fire hydrants even though the local government prohibited the bikers to do so some time ago, and the clouds are getting darker when he passes by Loisaida Ave. It’s not that time of the day, so the usual hassle in getting your own cab is lost in the rowdy remixes played from vinyl records.   
  
When he arrives at the entrance, Kyungsoo dismounts from his bike and chains it to the rails at the gateway before walking past the climbing wisterias. Following the stone paths that seem to twist at every corner, he then flattens the soil under the shade of a willow tree with his palm and sits.  
  
Kyungsoo removes his earphones and presses ‘pause’ on his music player. Unlike other people, Kyungsoo can’t write with music. He remembers trying to fill in the gaps in the screenplay he wrote for his second movie in a bar where most of the scenes were set, thinking he’d get the ambience, only his blank storyboard stared at him for a full hour as Kyungsoo stared at it back. He tried writing in a coffee shop too, but ended up hating the boisterous teenagers at table four and the chatty baristas. He blames it on his one-track mentality, being able to devote all of his energy and focus on only one thing at a time that he can’t think straight through a noise.   
  
Kyungsoo takes out the notebook and his storyboard and writes. Or tries to. Baekhyun might be right, after all. He’s struggling with the ending of this film. Even Sunyoung had taken him aside yesterday after filming and spoken her two cents.  
  
“It’s a great ending,” Sunyoung told him, her fingers soft and light on his upper arm. “But to me, it kind of sounds like you’re losing hope.”  
  
Kyungsoo scowls at his notebook. He rips off the page where Vince asks the nurse to bar Mary from entering his room when he’s minutes away from death and tears the paper to shreds. He flips furiously through his storyboard and encircles 36:12.0, the part where Gelo and Vince fight, and scribbles  _delete. zoom to Junmyeon’s face instead and cut scene. move to 49:20.4 starting with the clip of the highway._  
  
And it goes on like that for hours; Kyungsoo staring off to space with his back firm on the bark, lips tight as he waits for something, anything. The first drop of rain falls at a distance before one drips right on his nose. Kyungsoo hastily packs his things securely inside the plastic bag from his saddle, before dumping it in his backpack and scrambling for his bike.  
  
The ride back to East 6th is quick. Kyungsoo braves the showers and zooms through the intersections, ignoring the traffic lights and the unholy blares of flood control trucks all together.  
  
Shoes squeaking and black hoodie soaked and heavy, Kyungsoo retreats to the third floor. He discards his wet clothing as soon as he closes the door to the apartment, scooping them all up in his arms to prevent from making a wet mess on Jongin’s floor. He dumps the clothes into the hamper and flicks open the shower, letting the shivers die down from the heat of the water.  
  
Towel around his waist, Kyungsoo walks out of the bathroom barefooted, pale skin coated with goosebumps as the frigid air envelops him. He stops at Jongin’s room. The door is wide open.  
  
Kyungsoo chews on his lower lip and enters.  
  
The bed is hastily made, and Kyungsoo can make out the outline where Jongin slept on the sheets. The younger man’s cheek had looked squished and streaked with drool when he came out of his room this morning. Kyungsoo had wanted to tame Jongin’s puffy hair with his fingers.   
  
There are candy and energy bar wrappers littering Jongin’s work desk, and a cork board pinned with maps, a picture of a  _Under Construction_ sign, book quotes, flower petals, empty packets of gumdrops and slips of papers from fortune cookies, and it all makes Kyungsoo smile.   
  
_He’s such a kid_. Kyungsoo moves to swipe the mess to the trash, afterwards.  
  
He almost knocks over Jongin’s family portrait, which is framed in a simple silver plate. He sighs heavily as he straightens it out again, and gets a good look of a much younger Jongin in his high school uniform. He’s caught in mid-laugh, smiling like his cheeks hurt but he’s too happy to mind, and he’s squished in the middle by his parents and two sisters. It’d probably been taken during Jongin’s graduation, which would explain the bouquet of freesias and daisies in his hand.  
  
With a frown, Kyungsoo straightens the picture frame, placing it on a diagonal angle from across the corkboard.  
  
As he closes the door behind him, Kyungsoo sighs. He should really stop doing this to himself, wallowing. He’s better off worrying about next month’s bills and the upcoming tax season, or repaying Jongin in all ways he can think of. It’s no use dwelling on perfect people and their perfect lives. It’s not healthy, and it’s not like Kyungsoo was made to be one of them, anyway. 

****

  
  
  
Kyungsoo only wakes because there’s a hand burning on his forehead. Or is it his whole face that’s burning? – he’s not quite sure. His eyelids blearily flutter until his vision focuses. The hand leaves his skin, but the spot still scalds, intensifying the flushness he feels somehow.  
  
Jongin opens his mouth before Kyungsoo can make a sound. “Hey,” the boy whispers. He inches closer to Kyungsoo tentatively, the sheets crinkling under his weight and the bed posts squeaking at the tiniest movement. “Hi.”  
  
Kyungsoo answers with a pathetic “Mrrmph” before he clears his throat. He feels like he hasn’t talked in ages. “Jongin,” he croaks out finally. “What are you doing here?”  
  
Jongin points at the paper bag at the nightstand. “Baekhyun hyung called. He came over to give you that.”  
  
_Since when is Baekhyun your hyung?_ “Is he still here?”  
  
Jongin shakes his head. “He left as soon as he heard you were resting. He said that I should give it to you when you’re awake.”  
  
“I’m awake now.” Kyungsoo tries to sit, but his whole body feels like it’s submerged underwater.   
  
Jongin rests a hand on his shoulder and gently pushes him back to the mattress. “You’re burning up,” he mumbles after he places a hand on Kyungsoo’s forehead again. He nibbles his lip and says, “I saw all the wet clothes in the hamper. Didn’t you bring an umbrella with you? A raincoat?”  
  
Kyungsoo wants to shrug, but his body isn’t cooperating with him anymore. He grimaces. “Forgot. Sorry.”  
  
Jongin frowns. He clears away Kyungsoo’s bangs with a tender prod of his fingers and looks into his eyes. “How are you feeling?”  
  
Kyungsoo doesn’t know. His skin feels raw, and his chest feels tight. “What should I be feeling?”  
  
Jongin chuckles low, voice distinctly raspy, like he’s been waiting for a long time. He doesn’t reply and gives Kyungsoo’s sweaty hair another swipe with his hand. Kyungsoo sucks in an urgent breath, his chest feeling tighter and tighter.  
  
“Thanks for cleaning my room,” Jongin begins after a while. His face is so close that Kyungsoo can see the rosy blush on his cheeks.  
  
“It’s nothing,” Kyungsoo says. He coughs four times, then a few more. “Your door was open. Sorry. For, you know, intruding.”  
  
“There would be roaches crawling all over my desk if it weren’t for you,” Jongin says. “The whole apartment would have been a biohazard if it weren’t for you, hyung, honestly.” And there’s that look in his eyes again, and Kyungsoo’s breathing quickens. “It’s really nice, having you here.” Jongin squeezes Kyungsoo’s sweaty hand, along with Kyungsoo’s heart.  
  
Kyungsoo tries for a smile, perhaps with his face wrinkling in that super unpleasant way Sehun had always teased him for. Suddenly, Jongin’s gaze zeroes in on his lips, and it stays there. Kyungsoo worries if there’s a slick of dried saliva at the end of his mouth and surreptitiously runs a finger over it. Jongin immediately looks down to the floor.  
  
“Can I get you anything?” Jongin says hoarsely.   
  
The back of Jongin’s neck is a vivid scarlet. Kyungsoo puzzles over this as he responds, “Water seems like a good idea.”  
  
Jongin smiles easily and retreats, probably grateful for a couple minutes of space, same as Kyungsoo. As he leaves through the door, Kyungsoo reaches out for the paper bag in the nightstand. Much to his chagrin, it takes him a couple of tries before his fingers catch the raffia cord.  
  
Kyungsoo rips off the tape. He peers inside.  
  
A bubble of laughter escapes through Kyungsoo’s mouth without warning. He takes out the wool sweater from the paper bag. Cloudy grey. For cataract. Baekhyun is hilarious.  
  
“Are you alright?” Jongin’s voice cuts in. Kyungsoo looks up just in time to see the younger man hand him a glass of water. His eyebrows arch at the deformed clothing in Kyungsoo’s hands. “What is that?”  
  
“Byun Baekhyun’s handiwork,” Kyungsoo says and grins. “He asked me to teach him to knit, to make a sweater for his girlfriend’s birthday. Can’t believe he made one for me too.” He laughs roughly again. “Like he has all the time in the world between filming and his part-time jobs. It looks terrible. Fuck, it really looks terrible. Goddamn it. Baekhyun, you son of a bitch.”  
  
“Hyung,” Jongin says. He places a hand in Kyungsoo’s forearm, his eyebrows furrowed in concern. “You okay?”  
  
Kyungsoo blinks hard. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Just give me a sec —” He inhales deeply, shaking his head. “Sorry. I must be really sick —”  
  
“Do you like Baekhyun hyung?” Jongin says, abruptly, surprising them both. His eyes widen before he looks down, rubbing the fine hairs behind his neck. He sighs, and when he looks up to face Kyungsoo again, his eyes are sad. “Do you like Baekhyun hyung,” he parrots. “As more than just a friend?”  
  
Kyungsoo feels like he’s been poleaxed. He takes a long gulp from the glass before he straightens. “We dated before,” he shares, drawing out the syllables carefully. “Baekhyun has a girlfriend now.”  
  
“But do you still like him?” The guarded expression on Jongin’s face bothers Kyungsoo just as much as Jongin’s warm hand on his arm.   
  
Kyungsoo exhales wearily. “I don’t think so. I’m pretty sure I don’t like him as much as I used to. I don’t know. It’s complicated,” he rambles, sliding his index finger along the rim of the empty glass. “I’m over it, of course. I think I am. I mean, I was the one who broke up with him after all.”  
  
Jongin looks like he wants to say something more, but doesn’t press. He gives Kyungsoo a winning smile instead, which really does nothing to quell the rapid fluttering of hummingbird wings in his chest that started a while ago, but it’s a beautiful smile all the same.  
  
“I’ll cook for breakfast tomorrow,” Jongin says. He gives Kyungsoo a few pats on his arm before rising from the edge of the bed. “Can you handle anything undercooked or overcooked?”  
  
Kyungsoo laughs for real this time. “Anything you make will do,” he answers, and then gives him a thumbs up.  
  
Jongin falters for a moment at the doorway, eyes a little clouded, before he heads out. When the silence starts to invade his room again, Kyungsoo hears a mumbled  _“sleep well”_.

 

****

  
  
Kyungsoo gets a call from the bank again today.  _Do you want us to foreclose your parent’s house or not?_  is what they ask, in the politest, harshest way they can, and Kyungsoo answers with a bleak, “I’ll pay today”, before closing his phone. His hands shake as he takes his coat from the door.  
  
Jongin’s by the refrigerator, the CCTV winking at them slyly from the corner. It dawns on Kyungsoo that it’s Saturday, and Jongin doesn’t have any classes on weekends.  
  
“You’re troubled,” Jongin says, like he can taste Kyungsoo’s mood the way he can taste the sweetness of the orange juice in his mug. “More so than usual.”  
  
Kyungsoo’s chuckle is hollow, even to his ears. “Don’t worry about me, kid.”  
  
“I’m not a kid. How many times do I have to tell you?” Jongin sighs. The frustration is short-lived, though, and before Kyungsoo knows it, he’s walking side-by-side with Jongin to the front of Sovereign Bank.  
  
They march along with the other pedestrians and cross the one-way street. Japanese compacts riddled with a couple of old Lincoln cars mark the edge of the streets, and the trash bin beyond the streetlamps brims. Kyungsoo enters the bank and dumps the cash – his latest paycheck from his eight-hour shift in S.K. Deli – in the express deposit machine, and Jongin silently watches as he keys in the payment information.   
  
The interest deduction isn’t enough; the recent transaction just took out a small chunk of the loan. Kyungsoo wants to scream.  
  
He pulls out of the building before he does anything drastic. Jongin follows him out.  
  
“We’ll have to get groceries,” Kyungsoo says. He scans the streets even though there aren’t that much cars, just to distract himself. He points to the sizable store across the street. “Is there anything you want, Jongin? I’ll pay of course.”  
  
Jongin grimaces. “You really don’t have to do this to yourself,” he whispers heatedly, but says nothing when Kyungsoo ripostes with the usual _“I know what I’m doing, Jongin”._  
  
Jongin’s still angry when they enter Key Food, his hands rammed deep in the pockets of his hoodie. The girls seem to dig the whole brooding look though, as they stare open-mouthed at the dark-haired boy and his even darker mood. Kyungsoo grins at this although he knows he shouldn’t, and pushes the cart forward.  
  
Out of nowhere, Jongin gets a buy-one-get-one-free Gorton’s Fish Sticks. Kyungsoo pointedly tells him to put it back in the shelf.  
  
“Why?” Jongin pouts. He’s really done a lot of pouting these days — Kyungsoo should be immune to it by now.  
  
“It’s not a good retail price. Get something else,” Kyungsoo reasons.   
  
Jongin dejectedly looks at the two boxes, then at Kyungsoo, then at the box again.   
  
Kyungsoo rolls his eyes. “Does it taste good? I’ve never had one before.”   
  
Jongin’s frown transforms into a grin. “It is!” He kangaroo-bounces back to the cart as he places the fish sticks, and Kyungsoo’s lips twitch without further ado. Jongin’s moodiness is going to drive him mad, someday. “It tastes great, hyung. I’ll pay for —”  
  
“Oh no, you don’t,” Kyungsoo says. “I’m the big brother. Money’s no object if it’s good. I trust you.”  
  
They circle the grocery store, inching their way through the aisles as Kyungsoo crouches to get the packs of detergent at the bottom shelf, while Jongin stands on his toes and gets the largest container of fabric softener. The meat and poultry section turns out to be a bit tricky — he’s all too aware of Jongin’s obsession for chicken, so Kyungsoo averts his eyes from the price tag and gets three packs of American’s Choice.  
  
They’re at the counter. Kyungsoo takes out the carton of eggs first.   
  
“That’ll be $76.70, sir,” the small lady says. She gets surprised when the two men hand their cards at the same time. “Umm… is there —”  
  
“He’s unemployed. Still in college,” Kyungsoo tells her smoothly, and the cashier uncertainly takes his debit card. Jongin makes a muted protest beside him.  
  
“I hate it when you do that,” Jongin says when they’re walking down the street and out of earshot, bagged groceries in hand. They wait for a car to pass before they cross. “I really hate it when you won’t let me pay for anything when I’m with you. And I hate it more knowing that you could be spending all your money in more important things than attending to my needs.”  
  
“Since when is food not important?” Kyungsoo says. “Stop looking at me like that, Jongin. I’m not dying.”  
  
“Hyung, you’re supposed to live with me so you won’t have to pay for anything else. That’s what I had in mind when I offered.”  
  
“You’re paying for the rent already,” Kyungsoo says. “You said you wanted me to stay with you for six months. That’s a long time, so I’m trying to help as much as I can.”   
  
“But I’m not short on money. You are,” Jongin says, and it’s not meant to be crass. He’s merely stating a fact. “I have more than enough. Why won’t you let me take care of you?”  
  
This is their favorite topic of debate, lately. They’ve been at this for weeks, arguing about the delivery, the bills, the laundry mat. The landlady probably thinks they’re some kind of surly, old couple by now. “Let’s put it like this,” Kyungsoo amends. “I’m taking care of you while you’re taking care of me.”  
  
Jongin glares at him. “I don’t want that,” he mumbles. His lips stretch into a grim line. “You already have a lot of things on your plate. You don’t have to think about me.”   
  
“Why the hell not? I’m your roommate,” Kyungsoo insists. He throws the younger boy a bemused look. “This is normal.”  
  
“Is it?” Jongin says, but it doesn’t seem like he wants that particular question to be answered.   
  
Kyungsoo responds anyway. “Caring isn’t supposed to be one-sided,” he says. “You’re a writer, Jongin. Aren’t writers supposed to be knowledgeable about that emotional sort of stuff?”  
  
Jongin hides behind his paper bags. “I don’t know, hyung,” he says in a low voice, astringent and resentful. “You see me more as a kid than as an actual writer, anyway.”  
  
Kyungsoo doesn’t get what he means by that, so he keeps his mouth shut the whole walk back to their apartment. His tongue feels like it has decayed through the hours. After they get all the groceries in order, Jongin goes write in his room and avoids Kyungsoo for the rest of the day.

 

****

  
  
Sunday is a whole lot better. The younger man had made the first leap: dressed in a purple NYU hoodie with a timid smile in place, Jongin knocked on Kyungsoo’s room and asked if there were any bookstores nearby. An undoubtedly striking contrast to Kyungsoo and the whole Saturday night he’d spent making a whirlpool out of his blue bed sheets, much like a pitiful teenage boy rehearsing all the things he wants to say on White Day.  
  
They’re at St. Mark’s Bookshop, killing time as they wait for lunch hour to strike, and Jongin’s actually talking to him now rather than dodging bullets.   
  
Kyungsoo spots a curious-looking children’s book. There’s a shadowy front of a house in the cover, with a white rabbit in a red suit walking — and Kyungsoo means  _walking_ , bipedal and all — to the door with the yellow light.   
  
_The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane_ , the title reads.  
  
“I love that book,” a voice says from behind him, and it’s unmistakably Jongin, but Kyungsoo’s soul jumps from his body anyway. “I read that first in Korean, but I also tried the original one. It’s great.” Jongin’s eyes gleam as if he’s holding the Star of Africa.  
  
Kyungsoo makes a noncommittal hum, flipping it to read the back.   
  
_Once, in a house on Egypt Street, there lived a china rabbit named Edward Tulane. The rabbit was very pleased with himself, and for good reason: he was owned by a girl named Abilene, who treated him with the utmost care and adored him completely._ _  
  
_And then one day, he was lost.__  
  
After that there’s only nondescript details about the author.   
  
Kyungsoo furrows his eyebrows. “This is your favorite book?” He was expecting something more along the varieties of  _The Little Prince_  or _Where The Wild Things Are_. Or maybe it’s just Kyungsoo’s lack of bookish knowledge– he’s never heard of Edward Tulane and his adventures. It’s definitely not as popular as the Harry Potter series.  
  
“I thought I was going to be a science-fiction novelist at first,” Jongin narrates. “But when I read that book during my first year, my brain just switched gears. I suddenly wanted to write something amazing like Edward Tulane, for the kids.”  
  
Kyungsoo smiles. He gives the book one last inspection before putting it back on the shelf where it hides among the others. “A children’s writer, huh,” Kyungsoo muses out loud. He turns around and looks at Jongin contemplatively, scratching his chin. “Well, for a YA novelist, you’d definitely look the part. The girls would be queuing in bookstores for a copy of your work just because your face is on the back flap.”  
  
“Wow. I never thought of it that way, but you’re right.” Jongin grins openly. “I’m pretty good-looking enough to sell as much as Twilight did.”  
  
“Shameless,” Kyungsoo chides, and Jongin’s chortles earn them a lot of irritated looks from other shoppers. “Seriously, though. Kim Jongin the Teenage Heartbreaker will be rolling in dough as soon as he publishes his first trilogy of young love fighting against all odds, preferably in a dystopian setting. Ever considered venturing into that career path?”  
  
“Love and heartbreak,” Jongin sing-songs. “It’s what everybody writes about now.”  
  
“And you don’t want to?”  
  
“‘ _Took the one less traveled by_ ,” the younger man quotes with a soft smile. His hair catches the light in a way that leaves a deep impression in Kyungsoo’s mind. “I don’t want to write about love or the way love is written in teen novels,” Jongin explains. “I want to write about love in its purest form.”  
  
Kyungsoo pauses for a moment. “That’s terribly cheesy, Jongin,” he says. “Consider YA a bit more seriously. You’d fit right in.”  
  
Jongin chuckles before shrugging. “Don’t you think love gets a bit sadder as you grow up?” he says. “A bit more ruthless? The heartbreak? The ever prominent fear and possibility of a one-sided love, and all its horrible implications?”  
  
“Love is a rather inconvenient emotion, if you ask me. You might as well jump over the Brooklyn Bridge and get the same results.”  
  
“Love doesn’t give you hypothermia, though.” Jongin laughs. “Feelings for adults are complicated and sad, so I want to write for children, and their understanding of love that’s untainted and real.”  
  
Kyungsoo sort of understands, so he nods. He gestures at Edward Tulane. “So this book is about love?”  
  
“Yeah,” Jongin says. “Every children’s book is.”  
  
This is a different Jongin he’s seeing today, and he’s almost getting swept away by the amount of confidence and sappiness the boy exudes as he talks. At least he’s not mumbling at his sneakers like he used to, which is good. Kyungsoo would like to think they’re at that stage where Jongin considers him as his friend.  
  
Kyungsoo flips the book again and checks the tag price. It’s relatively cheap for something that contains The Greatest Story Ever Told.  
  
“I’ll give it a try, then,” Kyungsoo says, picking it up under his arm. His wallet goes seven dollars lighter, but it’s definitely worth it after seeing Jongin’s shining eyes and the hundreds of smiles he sends Kyungsoo’s way.  
  
They eat at Yerba Buena upon Jongin’s insistence. It’s a chic Latin restaurant that Kyungsoo has always thought of as gaudy and expensive. The interior is impressive, however, and the food and service are excellent enough.  
  
“You’ve never told me what you wanted to do,” Jongin says as he chews on his spinach. There’s not a lot of people eating, so it’s rather quiet. Kyungsoo can’t pretend he didn’t hear that.  
  
“I wanted to be a singer,” Kyungsoo responds after a full minute. His purchase grows heavy on his lap.  
  
Jongin pushes him a plate of rellenos. “I hear you every morning,” he says. “Humming while you make breakfast. Singing while you’re in the shower.”  
  
“Sorry. Must’ve been annoying.”  
  
“No. You’re a great singer,” Jongin replies firmly, sincere.   
  
Kyungsoo smiles. “Thanks. Thing is, I don’t want to do it anymore,” he says. “Professionally, I mean. I think the prospect turned a little less grand as I grew up, until I lost interest in it. It’s not a practical choice.”  
  
“A lot of people say that,” Jongin mumbles before scowling deeply. He says nothing for a while until he’s done with his rellenos. “But then you turned to filmmaking?”  
  
Kyungsoo shakes his head as he chuckles. “That’s a lot less practical than being an idol, don’t you think so?” he says. “No. When my family moved here, I studied accountancy and prepped myself for a boring desk job at the company where my father used to work.” He laughs. “That didn’t work out well either.”  
  
“Why?” Jongin then clamps a hand over his mouth, face coloring. He grimaces in chagrin. “Sorry. You don’t have to tell me, hyung.”  
  
Kyungsoo shrugs. He doesn’t mind. He still remembers everything, after all, which is a bit depressing now that he thinks about it. Kyungsoo thought he’d already driven the bad stuff away. “My dad died, and my older brother got arrested for drunk driving and homicide. No one wanted to hire me.”  
  
Jongin turns slack-faced. He looks so mortified and apologetic that Kyungsoo immediately shakes both of his hands at him.  
  
“Don’t beat yourself up over it,” Kyungsoo says. “It’s all in the past. I like what I’m doing now. It’s not so bad.”  
  
Jongin still won’t say anything even after ten minutes have passed.   
  
Usually, Kyungsoo prefers the quiet, but Jongin’s about to fry the gears in his head, thinking like that. Kyungsoo nudges him slightly with his foot under the table, and the boy looks up from his plate, wide-eyed. Kyungsoo throws him an easy grin. “How’s your entry coming?” he says. “You’re writing a lot these days.”   
  
Last Thursday, Kyungsoo came back at four in the morning from the deli, and he found Jongin hunched in the kitchen, making hot chocolate with his eyes lidded like there were dumbbells weighing them down. He was wearing a pair of sweatpants that hung low on his hips, revealing the thick, black waistband of his underwear. Kyungsoo knew better than to distract Jongin in his search for Nirvana. So he hid in the darkness of the living room and waited for Jongin to go back to his room before crawling to his own cave without a sound.  
  
“I’m in the middle. Or at least I think I’m in the middle now,” Jongin mutters before chewing on his bottom lip. He’s so shy again. Kyungsoo wants to poke his cheeks. “Sungkeun still hasn’t figured things out yet.”  
  
“You’re writing about Korean characters?” Kyungsoo says, surprised.  
  
Jongin nods. “I haven’t done it before. I figured that for my graduation entry, I should write something closer to home.”  
  
Kyungsoo licks the guacamole from his lips and says, “But you haven’t been to Korea before, have you? You were born and raised here in New York City. Upper East Side, right?”  
  
“No. I’m from Greenwich.”  
  
“Ahh. Right, I forgot.” Kyungsoo clucks his tongue. He’s been there a lot of times. One of the upper crust circles of Manhattan, still. Kyungsoo’s always had the feeling that Jongin’s richer than he’s willing to show. “How do you write about a place you’ve never been to?”  
  
Jongin thinks about it for a second. “There’s Google.” He smiles. “Also Mom and Dad. They grew up in Korea before they came here to start their own business.”  
  
“Research. Still the best way to go.”  
  
“Yeah.” Jongin chuckles before his expression turns thoughtful. He fidgets in his seat like an epiphany just hit him with a ton of bricks. “And there’s also…” he trails.  
  
Kyungsoo waits for the punch line, but it doesn’t come. “What?”  
  
“Remember when I asked you to live with me for a while?”  
  
Kyungsoo stills. His cheeks heat up as his stomach churn aggravatingly. Jongin has to stop reminding him of the length of time they’ll have to spend with each other. It’s not good for his digestion. “I still can’t believe it, though. Six months.” Kyungsoo laughs to break the tension, but it comes out awkward.  
  
Jongin runs a hand through his hair and stares at his plate again.   
  
It’s stupid that Kyungsoo instantly thinks of strawberries, because that’s what Jongin’s hair smells like. He’s gotten a whiff of it before, when Jongin huddled next to him as they watched Kyungsoo’s old films. It’s stupid, stupid.   
  
“I said it was because having you around helps me write,” Jongin says quietly. “You make me think of things that I’ve never thought of before. You confuse me a lot too, but most of the time you make me feel…”  
  
Kyungsoo’s never been good with filling in the blanks, or feelings. He sucks at those the most. “Hyped enough to write?” he tries, but the look Jongin gives him tells him that it’s not enough.  
  
“I think of Korea, when I see you,” Jongin says. “I feel like you’ve carried a bit of our home with you, and you won’t let the city swallow it up.” He laughs. “I have yet to see you cook something American for the both of us.”  
  
“That’s because American food doesn’t have any flavor.” Kyungsoo gulps. “I guess that’s why New York City’s especially hostile towards me,” he murmurs before swallowing another growing ball in his throat.  
  
“New York’s hostile to everyone. You just won’t let anyone help you, is all.”  
  
“It’s not like there’s anything left to do,” Kyungsoo says, twirling his fork. “My life’s a mess.”  
  
Jongin chuckles. “Your stubbornness is really cute, hyung,” he says. “Sometimes, I just wish you’d let me be the exception.”  
  
“You already are,” Kyungsoo says, and he racks his brain trying to come up with an explanation for all the things he lets Jongin get away with. There’s none.

****

  
  
  
Sunyoung hoists herself up and sits on the steel divider. The alloy screeches under her. “Oh. What are you reading?”  
  
“Nothing.” Kyungsoo puts the book down. He places his hands squarely on his lap.  
  
“Doesn’t look like nothing,” Sunyoung teases. “I saw a rabbit. You’re into picture books now?”  
  
Kyungsoo’s lips lilt up and he settles for changing the subject. “I’ve been thinking about what you told me. About the ending.”  
  
“I wasn’t imposing anything, Kyungsoo.” Sunyoung frowns. “Please don’t misunderstand.”  
  
“No, of course you weren’t,” Kyungsoo assures her. “I wasn’t offended or anything. You were right, though. There’s something... disturbing about it.”  
  
“Not disturbing. You’re being too harsh on yourself again.”  
  
Kyungsoo waves. “It’s a cocksucker of an ending. The worst cocksucking kind.” He licks his lips and sighs heavily. “I wrote it when Dad died.”  
  
“Oh.” A flash of sympathy. It really must have been a pathetic of an ending, Kyungsoo muses. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know…”  
  
“That’s alright. No one’s supposed to know. Not even Baekhyun does,” Kyungsoo says. He digs around his pocket, even if there’s nothing inside. There’s a knot in his gut that has been starting to take over and make him feel sick ever since filming started. “I guess I shouldn’t write screenplays when things turn downhill, right?”   
  
“Kyungsoo, it’s a  _powerful_  ending,” Sunyoung says. “I can’t even make myself hate Mary, and not because she’s my character. She’s so confused and wrong in a dark but human way.” She puts a hand on top of Kyungsoo’s in a manner that’s supposed to be soothing, but it doesn’t settle the battle in Kyungsoo’s soul. Quite frankly, there seems to be only one person who can calm Kyungsoo’s nerves. “However, I don’t think a powerful ending suits this movie. Mary and Gelo need to get over their insecurities in particular—that doesn’t need to be explosive, right? No one has to die,” she says. “No one has to end up alone and lonely.”  
  
“You’re right,” Kyungsoo gives in. “I’ll try to find something else before we get to film for that part.”

****

  
  
  
“Jongin?”  
  
“Hi, hyung.”  
  
“Oh, god.” Kyungsoo sits up from his bed. His whole head is a geonggo pounding mercilessly, and he cradles it with a hand. He reaches out and draws the curtain. The sky is a blast of orange in the background of the rowhouses. “What time is it?”  
  
Jongin, much to his bewilderment, laughs. “It’s already 8:22.” He snickers again. “PM. You overslept.”  
  
Kyungsoo’s jaw drops. “W-what?” He grabs his wristwatch on the nightstand and his glasses that he almost never wears except when he’s in pajamas. It is, indeed, 8:22 pm. Kyungsoo widens his eyes and blinks to see if he’s seeing right, and it’s suddenly 8:23. “Holy fuck…” He swipes his hair off of his sticky forehead.  
  
“It must have been one tiring shoot,” Jongin says. The mattress dips at the weight of his hand pressing on it as he scoots closer to Kyungsoo. “When you came home you went straight to your room. Didn’t spare me a glance.” He puckers his lips. “I’m pissed, hyung. I even made you hot coco last night.”   
  
Kyungsoo throws him a panicked look, and Jongin breaks from his character and laughs. “I’ve never heard you snore before.” He winks. “It’s cute.”  
  
“We’re supposed to shoot again today,” Kyungsoo says, hands clenched on the covers. “At Midtown.”  
  
“It’s fine, don’t fret. Baekhyun hyung called.” Jongin’s smile slips a little, but it gets back on track at the blink of an eye. “I told him you were resting.”  
  
Kyungsoo is too out of it to summon a glare. “You could have just woken me up, kid.”  
  
“But that would break my heart.” Jongin crawls and wraps a gentle arm around Kyungsoo’s chest, pinning him down to the bed. Kyungsoo’s head falls back to his pillow again.  
  
“Jongin —”  
  
“Hyung, let’s sleep,” Jongin whispers in his ear. He adjusts their positions, so it’s like he’s hugging Kyungsoo from behind, his chest flat on Kyungsoo’s back. “I’m exhausted too. I wrote a lot today.”  
  
“Should I congratulate you?”  
  
“Yeah,” Jongin says. He noses Kyungsoo’s nape. “With this.”  
  
Kyungsoo holds back a shiver, even though the heat of Jongin’s skin warms up his spine. “Aren’t you hungry?” he asks, thoughts tangled. His breath comes in short as Jongin presses his nose even more along Kyungsoo’s neck. “D-don’t you want me to cook you dinner?”  
  
Jongin shakes his head. “You’re like a bear,” he mutters to Kyungsoo’s charged skin. “Your tummy is so soft.”  
  
Kyungsoo balks, and resolves with kicking back at Jongin’s knee, hard. The younger man whines in pain.   
  
“I’m not saying you’re fat,” Jongin explains. “You’re all skin and bones, except in your tummy, and your cheeks. Like a teddy bear.” He chuckles, and hugs Kyungsoo tighter.   
  
Kyungsoo stutters as his throat goes dry. “Sorry,” he says. “Not all of us can dance and have nice abs.”  
  
“I don’t want you to have nice abs,” Jongin says. “I like how I can cuddle you, like this.”  
  
Kyungsoo sighs, and grabs a fistful of Jongin’s hair from behind. He tugs at it, a prick of a needle. “Remember what I told you about skinship, Jongin-ah.” Jongin’s hair is soft too, and it smells wonderful. Strawberries and sweat and coconut.  
  
Jongin gives him a close-mouthed laugh. “Let this go, just this once,” he says. “So cute, my hyung.”

****

  
  
  
It’s mid-morning, the time of day that Kyungsoo really fucking hates. The streets are noisy and there’s a man-hole every eight blocks that hasn’t been covered, and the landlady came earlier to the apartment and Jongin paid in full while Kyungsoo took a shower. Really, Kyungsoo feels awful and useless and guilty and all-around pissed.  
  
They installed the wind chimes at the deli last week, so when Kyungsoo comes in, Jongdae looks up from his logbook and greets him.  
  
“Your tacky sweater has seen better days,” Jongdae jokes with a grin. “Remind me to give you a raise for this month.”  
  
Kyungsoo smiles half-heartedly. “I’ll take over the counter now, Jongdae-ssi.”  
  
“Always so polite. Talk to me comfortably as soon as I finish cataloguing, Kyungsoo-yah,” Jongdae says, wagging a finger at him before disappearing at the back of the store. He’s probably going to call and talk to his girlfriend back in Korea. Kyungsoo’s caught him doing that way too many times.  
  
Soon, Kyungsoo’s temper simmers to an acceptable level. The miniature fan blows cold air to the side of his face, calming him and soothing the tightened coils in his stomach. Kyungsoo ponders on the things he’ll have to do later as soon as the shift ends, like contacting WGA for the script changes and asking Baekhyun if his sister-in-law would be free to meet him next week.   
  
His thoughts then drift elsewhere, and he considers buying dinner for Jongin. Preferably something mouth-watering that will make the kid swap his books for a plate without a second thought.  
  
The chimes ring. A teenage girl with blue highlights and pompoms tied to her backpack comes in. The hairs on her nape are sticky with sweat as she gallops to the cashier with a cracker and a banana. The fabric of her snug blouse clings weirdly to her ribs, but Kyungsoo pretends not to notice.  
  
The lake goes still again. Kyungsoo takes his book out and counts the number of pages left in Edward Tulane’s story. He’s at the part where Edward gets to meet Bryce’s sick sister Sarah Ruth. Reading between the lines, Kyungsoo can already tell that Sarah is going to die. He’s almost at the end.  
  
At this point, there’s nothing miraculous about the rabbit’s journey — depressing would be the best word for it. Morbid, even; Kyungsoo had blanched at the part he read yesterday, where Edward was tied to a wooden pole to scare the crows away from the fields. Children books aren’t supposed to be like this.   
  
It makes him wonder why Jongin loves this book so much. From the get-go, Kyungsoo could tell that Jongin preferred happy stories over sad ones.  
  
The chimes ring again. “Annyeonghaseyo,” Kyungsoo says automatically, placing the book aside.  
  
An Asian boy comes into full view, hair dyed an astonishingly bright yellow and ears studded with rings and rhinestones. Kyungsoo stares after him for a while until he gathers his wits and looks down. When boots scrape the tiles before him, he looking up again.  
  
“Do you speak Korean?” the boy asks in heavily-accented English. Kyungsoo answers yes, and the boy’s shoulders sag in relief.  
  
“I speak little Korean, but I’m worse with English,” the boy tells him, syllables still uttered with tentative clips, but not as bad as it was the first time. He places three chocolate bars on the counter. “Which one tastes better?”  
  
Kyungsoo prefers dark chocolate over anything else, but the scary-looking kid with the cute accent looks like a milk chocolate type of person, so he picks the milk one. “That’d be $2.75, sir.”  
  
“Thank you,” the boy utters, and Kyungsoo wraps his purchase in paper before handing it to him with his change. “I don’t know why I expected you to be taller, but your eyes are definitely round, alright.”  
  
Kyungsoo backpedals. “Umm, excuse me?”  
  
“I’m Zitao,” the boy introduces himself with a chuckle. He holds out his hand. His rings have skull designs on them. “But Jongin calls me Tao for short.”  
  
_Ahh_ , Kyungsoo recalls. Huang Zitao, one of Jongin’s college friends. He gradually takes his outstretched hand and shakes it. “Hello,” he says. “I’m Kyungsoo, Jongin’s roommate.”  
  
“Yeah. I know who you are. Jongin talks about you all the time.” The smile Zitao sends him is downright creepy.   
  
Kyungsoo gulps. “Well, umm.” He doesn’t know what else there is to say. “Thank you for your patronage, Zitao-ssi.”  
  
“No problem. It was nice to finally meet you.” Zitao waves before stepping out of the store. The doors close again, shielding him from the heavy sound of dubstep from the street kids passing by. 

****

  
  
  
Kyungsoo knocks on the door and opens only when he hears Jongin’s scratchy answer to come in.  
  
The door sticks to one side, where Jongin’s varsity jacket strewn on the floor and blocks it from opening. “Hey,” Kyungsoo says gently, his own voice rough with disuse. Jongin tears his gaze away from his laptop to look at him, and Kyungsoo’s fingers curl to his palm at the weary smile on the boy’s face. “I bought you food.” He holds up the plastic full of Chinese take-out. “Do you want to eat here or…?”  
  
Jongin gazes at him for a while, before standing up from his messy bed and holding Kyungsoo’s wrist. He takes the plastic from the older man and says, “Will you keep me company? I’m in the middle of revisions. I shouldn’t fall asleep.”  
  
Kyungsoo studies the waves of Jongin’s hair and the thick frames of Jongin’s reading glasses. “Sure,” he replies, and closes the door quietly behind him.  
  
The night plummets as Jongin types away, and Kyungsoo lies on his back as he watches the fluorescent bulb with unmoving eyes, thinking. Once in a while he takes breaks from his staring game with ceiling and nudges Jongin to eat his dimsum before it gets too cold.  
  
“Eat up,” Kyungsoo prods. “You haven’t been eating well lately. Don’t think that I haven’t noticed you.”  
  
The back of Jongin’s neck goes red, and he mumbles something like an apology. He stuffs the dumplings all at once in his mouth, gulping it down with grape juice. As he turns back to face the light again, Kyungsoo wonders if he’s said something wrong.  
  
Somewhere in the quiet, Kyungsoo falls asleep on Jongin’s bed. He wakes up the next morning wrapped in Jongin’s favorite blue blanket, his head propped up with Jongin’s favorite pillow, and his throat craving for milk. There’s a note on the shared fridge down the hallway, when Kyungsoo finally gets up to look for a bottle:  _Thanks for last night, hyung :) Let’s have Chinese again later!_  
  
The smiley looks familiar, and Kyungsoo would’ve made the connection if he wasn’t feeling so groggy today.   
  
Kyungsoo takes the note and stuffs it in his pocket. He orders for Chinese again tonight.

 

****

  
  
  
One day, Jongin wraps his fingers around Kyungsoo’s upper arm, and he’s tilting his head questioningly and saying, “You look… well-rested, hyung.”  
  
Kyungsoo frowns at him. Is that supposed to be a bad thing? “I don’t get what you mean,” he says slowly.  
  
Jongin’s eyes widen, as if it has only registered now that what he said came out wrong. “No, hyung, that’s not what I — anyway, I’m just saying.” He licks his lower lip. “You seem okay.”  
  
Kyungsoo tries his best not to bristle and fails. For an aspiring novelist, Jongin’s got a really weird way with words. He sets the broiler down to a minimum level. “Sorry if I’ve always seemed uptight.”  
  
Jongin laughs, leaning on the kitchen counter. He takes the spatula off of Kyungsoo’s hands. “You’re just more comfortable now,” he says and grins. “You didn’t even hesitate to yell at me last night when I forgot to wash all the dishes that piled up. I like it.”  
  
Jongin’s amusement is pretty catching, and Kyungsoo finds himself cocking an eyebrow and smirking at him. “You like it when I tell you to go screw yourself?” he says. “I didn’t know you’ve set a pretty low bar for yourself, Jongin.”   
  
Last night had been a messy event, and yes, Kyungsoo had gone a bit over the top by insulting Jongin’s manhood when the kid’s just too busy to clean after himself. Jongin had said some unsavory words back, letting out all the stress from his exams or whatever, and soon after, they bought chicken and beer and watched horrible soaps and slept together on the floor since they’re too tired to go to their bedrooms and — well, honestly, it’s all good.   
  
Jongin sighs exaggeratedly. He pushes up his sleeves and pours soy sauce on a separate bowl. “Why do you always miss the point, hyung?”  
  
“I wasn’t aware that there is a point,” Kyungsoo deadpans. “I’m kinda slow on the uptake, kid. School me, if you want.”  
  
“It’s one of your charms,” Jongin says, and Kyungsoo has to blink and narrow his eyes at him, because Jongin actually looks like he’s sincere about it.  
  
“You’re a moron,” Kyungsoo settles, and lets his hand land on the small of Jongin’s back, pushing him slightly. He relinquishes his post in front of the stove and passes Jongin the pink bunny apron. “Now, remember what I taught you about sautéing the japchae?"

****

  
  
“You know, I’m starting to suspect the nurses think you’re Mom’s son,” Baekhyun babbles, probably to fill the large, desolate space between them. The walls of the hospital are glaringly white, and they seem to close in on Kyungsoo every time his breath heaves in discomfort. “Not that I mind, though. It’s just sad to think that my mother’s beauty would be downgraded to your caliber, honestly speaking.”  
  
“What makes you think you’re that handsome?” Kyungsoo says, and Baekhyun answers by winking at a pimply teen sitting across from them in the waiting hall. The firm blush on her cheeks is a definite sign that Kyungsoo’s lost this round.  
  
They just saw Baekhyun’s mom moments ago. She looks brighter and healthier, just as Baekhyun told him. The operation was a success. It’s probably the reason why Baekhyun took in a fourth job to pay for the bills.  
  
The soles of Kyungsoo’s feet don’t meet the floor; he swings his legs as he sits. “How long are you going to work for at that bar?”   
  
Baekhyun shrugs. “Three months. Four months. I don’t know. As soon as it’s enough, I think. Let’s just hope my voice will hold until then.”  
  
“Your voice sounds horrible lately, so you’d better stop talking while you can,” Kyungsoo says, making Baekhyun laugh.  
  
Baekhyun sidles closer and plonks his chin on top of Kyungsoo’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about me, Kyungsoo-yah ~” He flutters his eyelashes.  
  
“I’m not.” Kyungsoo snorts. “I know better than to worry about you.”  
  
“If I didn’t know you so well, I might actually fall for that trick.” Baekhyun looks up to him with a puppy-like grin. “Yuri noona says she’s free next week, and that she wants you to stay longer than thirty minutes for Chuseok. She says she’ll make a banquet in your honor if you do.”  
  
Kyungsoo doesn’t mention that he hates Chuseok as a holiday, especially back in Korea where celebrating it had been mandatory. Instead, he replies, “No need to bribe me with food. And I think I’ll visit next week if nothing comes up. I’ll just be stopping by to check on Hyerin and Sunjae, that’s all.”  
  
Baekhyun wrinkles his nose at the mention of them. “Surprised they haven’t destroyed your parents’ house yet, those two little gargoyles.”  
  
“What a nice thing to say about your own nephew and niece, Byun Baekhyun.”  
  
“You know how much I hate kids,” Baekhyun says flatly. “They’re rowdier than I am. Once they grow up, I promise that I’ll start acting like a proper uncle to them. For now, you can be my lovely interim.”  
  
“Poor Taeyeon noona.” Kyungsoo chuckles. “How will she cope once you two start having kids of your own, I wonder?”  
  
Baekhyun’s whole face reddens and he’s utterly speechless for once. It’s definitely easy to fall back into those trademark, mind-numbing conversations they had back in college. Kyungsoo doesn’t feel that pang of hurt in his gut anymore, which is a good sign. “You should ask her to marry you soon,” he continues. “It’s horrible to see Taeyeon noona camping out all time.”  
  
Baekhyun laughs, places a hand on his thigh, and flashes him a smile that shows jagged, white teeth. “As soon as Mom gets discharged and we finish the film, I’ll ask her,” he says with a ring of certainty that makes Kyungsoo smile a little. “Contrary to popular belief, I have everything in my life all figured out.”  
  
“What a load of bull,” Kyungsoo says.  
  
Baekhyun snickers. “Wait, that reminds me. Give me your phone, Soo.”  
  
Kyungsoo’s eyebrows furrow in confusion, but he hands it to his friend without protest. “Why?”  
  
Baekhyun smirks devilishly, and only then does Kyungsoo realize he’s made a mistake.   
  
“Hey, Jongin!” Baekhyun chirps, and Kyungsoo’s heart leaps, rabbit-like. “Oh, yeah, this is Baekhyun hyung speaking. Are you in class right now?”  
  
Kyungsoo makes a grab for the phone, mortified. “What are you doing?” He yelps. “Baekhyun, you absolute –”  
  
“I’m here with Kyungsoo at the hospital,” Baekhyun explains, holding Kyungsoo back by the face with his other hand and kicking his shin. “Oh no! Kyungsoo’s fine! We’re all fine. We’re just visiting my mom cause she’s sick and all – oh yeah, she’s fine too! The surgery did everything it was supposed to. Wait, that’s not what I wanted to talk about.” He laughs. “Are you free tonight? We’re having drinks with the whole crew, and Kyungsoo would love it if you came.”  
  
This is news. “We’re having a party? For what?” Kyungsoo says. “No one told me anything!”  
  
Baekhyun ignores him. “Sake Bar Satsko. 7 pm. Yep. Uh-huh. No need to wear any bow-ties. See you there, Jongin!” He ends the call before Kyungsoo can wiggle out of his grasp. He laughs loudly then, and a pediatrician passing through the hallway glances at him sideways.   
  
“What did you just  _do?_ ” Kyungsoo whispers in anger. His pulse doesn’t seem like it’s going to slow down any minute now. Baekhyun must’ve sensed it too, and places a cool hand around Kyungsoo’s beet-red neck.  
  
“That face, Soo!” Baekhyun guffaws, unabashed. “That face! You’re such a train wreck right now, look at you!”  
  
“They’re going to throw us out if you don’t keep it down.” Kyungsoo seethes and jams his thumb at the nurses flashing them warning looks. “What party are you talking about? Whose birthday is it?”  
  
“We’re just going out for drinks, dude, not a Christening. You don’t have to bring presents or shit. A small gathering of friends, that’s all.”  
  
“Why invite Jongin? It’s a weekday! He has school!”  
  
“You talk like you’re his mom or something.” Baekhyun pats him on the neck, laughing. “Relax. We’re not talking behind your back, if that’s what you’re worried about.” He gives Kyungsoo a placating grin. “Come on, Kyungsoo. It’s been almost three months. You can’t hide him from us forever.”  
  
“I’m not hiding him,” Kyungsoo grumbles, slouching on his seat.   
  
“Then I can’t see why it’s such a problem then,” Baekhyun retorts and flicks Kyungsoo’s ear. “Unless you want him all for yourself, you’d better make sure that he comes tonight or there’d be some major ass whipping, and I’m not kidding at all.”  
  
“Fuck your BDSM kinks, Baekhyun,” Kyungsoo growls. “I’ll ask Jongdae-ssi to bring God into your life.”  
  
Baekhyun winks at him. “God’s too huge for this small gathering I planned. I’ll ask him next time if he’s free for a cup of tea, but for now, we need to see how this Kim Jongin kid turned our Kyungsoo into a blushing tenth grader over such a short span of time. Don’t think we haven’t noticed.”  
  
As if the whole universe suddenly wants to prove a point, Kyungsoo flushes darkly. “He’s not… I’m not…”  
  
“Very charming,” Baekhyun wheezes. “Quit arguing with me, Soo. You’re so smitten with the kid that you’d lose anyway.” He tugs Kyungsoo’s hand when the nurse beckons them. “Come on! Mom’s probably awake now. And stop scowling, you fuck. Think of Jongin and fluffy puppies!”  
  
“Would you shut up, please?” Kyungsoo mutters and stands as he hides his eyes with his hair in an attempt to salvage his last shred of dignity. He peers down at his phone when it vibrates.   
  
_See you tonight!! :)_  
  
Kyungsoo clutches on his phone tightly, but doesn’t reply. He can’t think of any.

****

  
  
While Baekhyun and co. talk over ozeki, Kyungsoo slips from the table and waits for Jongin outside the bar. He’s late. Kyungsoo leans against the rails and watches the smooth tick-tocking of hands on his beat-up wristwatch. The night isn’t exactly toasty, but it’s an unusual kind of temperature at the onset of spring that Kyungsoo has to remove his coat.  
  
Jongin arrives at half past eight, smile sheepish. “Sorry, hyung,” he says as a greeting. He pushes back his sweaty hair with his palm.  
  
Kyungsoo bounces off from the rails and wipes it away with his handkerchief. The boy goes tense at his touch, but then relax as Kyungsoo continues to dry him up with the cloth wordlessly.  
  
“Don’t be,” Kyungsoo replies after a minute. He tilts Jongin’s chin and wipes the sweat under there. He brushes off the thrum of heat tingling on his fingers as it comes into contact with the rabid swell on Jongin’s throat. “School’s more important. You really didn’t have to come, anyway.”  
  
Kyungsoo pulls away, and he fights a blush from forming when he meets Jongin’s intense stare. He gathers his bearings and hands Jongin the handkerchief. “You’re twenty-three already, Jongin,” he admonishes. “Carry a towel with you or a dish cloth or something. Don’t wipe your sweat with your fingers.”  
  
That seems to break the tension. Jongin laughs a hiccupping laugh, eyes disappearing as the skin crinkles underneath. “For you, hyung, I will.” His smile is brighter than the city lights. Kyungsoo feels woozy.  
  
“Give me that.” Kyungsoo takes Jongin’s school bag off his shoulders. “You look like a minor on a field trip. Come on.”  
  
Jongin is still laughing as they enter the bar. As soon as they reach the row of square tables clumped together to make a long, rectangular one, the whole group erupts in talk.  
  
“Wipe my sweat too, hyung ~” Baekhyun cat-calls, and Chanyeol and Sehun double over in laughter. Taeyeon chuckles quietly, sliding back into Baekhyun’s arms.  
  
The windows are wide and clear. Kyungsoo groans to himself.   
  
“You two were so cute, getting into each other’s personal space like that.” Sunyoung is practically singing, clapping her hands in delight, much to Kyungsoo’s embarrassment. “If only we were fast enough to catch it on film.”  
  
“Come on, let’s not go all weird on this,” Kyungsoo says, sitting on the empty space next to Chanyeol. A scarlet-faced Jongin silently follows. “Jongin, this is Chanyeol, Sehun, Sunyoung, Baekhyun, Taeyeon, and Junmyeon. And, uhh, everyone, this is Jongin.”  
  
“The infamous roommate,” Junmyeon adds, stretching over the tables to shake Jongin’s hand. “Nice to finally meet you, Kim Jongin-ssi. Kyungsoo rarely speaks of you, but when he does, he gets very flustered.”  
  
Jongin gets very flustered too when he speaks, “Hello. Um, I’m sorry for being late. Dance practice held me up.”  
  
The whole table explodes again.   
  
“A dancer?” Chanyeol grins stupidly, and there’s a thousand innuendos in that single sentence that it makes Kyungsoo want to throttle him.  
  
“He definitely looked very flexible the last time I saw him,” Baekhyun unhelpfully supplies. His sake slushes in his shaking hands, and Sunyoung rolls her eyes at him.  
  
Taeyeon looks at Kyungsoo in confusion. “I thought you said he was a writer”, and Sehun gives her a wry,  _Who the fucking hell cares?_  look.  
  
“I’m not actually a writer yet,” Jongin explains. “I’m still in my last year at NYU. I also dance and compete and stuff so…” He blushes.  
  
Thankfully, Junmyeon is kind enough to divert the conversation elsewhere. “You’ll probably publish something soon, Jongin-ssi. What do you want to write about?”  
  
Jongin’s face lights up, happy that he’s getting asked something that he’s comfortable with answering. “I want to write stories and poems for kids,” Jongin says, and Kyungsoo’s heard it all before, but he listens anyway.  
  
Dinner comes and is brought by one of Taeyeon’s friends and co-workers The whole crew throws a barrage of questions at Jongin in between bites of food. He indulges them with long, meaty answers that would’ve otherwise sounded boring without his low, speaking voice and shy chuckles in between.  
  
They’ve taken off their coats, and Jongin’s arm is hot and sticky against Kyungsoo’s own, a thin sheen of perspiration separating skin from skin. Kyungsoo holds his breath for a second, before shaking his head.  
  
There’s a woman on the counter. Beautiful, with tight-fitting tank top and a cleavage as deep as an ocean trench. Her green eyes rake all over Jongin’s profile. It upsets Kyungsoo’s stomach somehow, and he downs one cup after another, letting the fog in his vision grow.  
  
At eleven, the topic shifts to the film. Chanyeol is already diminished into a giggling mess on Sehun’s lap, as Sunyoung and Junmyeon explain the synopsis for Jongin.  
  
“We still haven’t gotten around the ending yet,” Sunyoung says. Kyungsoo catches her flashing him a wide smile before continuing, “But we’re almost done. Kyungsoo’s still working on tweaking it a bit. It has to be absolutely perfect since it’s our first time to be part of a line-up for a film festival.”  
  
“Wow. Really?” Jongin lightly slaps Kyungsoo’s thigh. “Yah, Kyungsoo hyung. You never told me about that.”  
  
Kyungsoo waves him off, feeling the bouts of a headache lurk behind his eyelids. “It’s nothing important,” he says.  
  
“It’s huge,” Sehun insists, as he pokes at Chanyeol’s mushy cheek every once in a while. “United Film opens at five other cities besides New York. For a festival like that to screen our film, it’s definitely huge.”  
  
“I wouldn’t have gotten it without your help,” Kyungsoo says.   
  
Jimmy Darwin used to be a professor in one of Sehun’s classes in film school and is now one of the organizers of the event. Sehun was Jimmy’s star pupil, and the professor had adopted Sehun’s interest in participating in underground films. Then Sehun and Kyungsoo met in a Connelly film showing, and the rest is history.  
  
Kyungsoo had adamantly declined Sehun and Jimmy’s offer to have free access to the school’s equipment, but he couldn’t resist the temptation when Jimmy sent him an e-mail regarding United’s free slot for the upcoming festival. “And we’re only opening for New York,” Kyungsoo reminds them. “We don’t exactly have the funds to fly to Los Angeles or London and open for those cities too.”  
  
“But you know, Sehun-ssi’s right,” Jongin says, a hand on Kyungsoo’s forearm. “It’s definitely huge.”   
  
“According to society’s definition of success, it’s not,” Kyungsoo replies aimlessly. From his peripheral vision, he sees the girl edging her top, giving their table a great view of her supple breasts. He winces.  
  
Though Jongin’s eyes are on Kyungsoo only. He gives the elder a soft smile. “You were never interested in catering to society’s standards, anyway, Kyungsoo hyung.” He chuckles, and squeezes Kyungsoo’s arm. “I envy it, sometimes. It’s one of the reasons why I like you.”  
  
Kyungsoo almost spits out his drink. “Uhh,” he says, his eyes rolling back without warning.  
  
“Oh no, he’s too drunk.” Baekhyun laughs. “Quick, somebody give him a bucket.”  
  
“I’m not going to throw up. Jesus,” Kyungsoo says slowly, voice thick with disdain. He nibbles on the lotus chips and then spits it out because it tastes too salty and he’s beginning to see the world in fours. “I fucking hate sake.”  
  
Chanyeol sputters and laughs. “You drink way too much and way too fast for your size, Kyungsoo.”  
  
Kyungsoo lets out a small whine in protest, and Jongin asks him urgently, “Do you want to lie down? I’ll take you home.”  
  
“No need.” Kyungsoo cradles his face with his hands for a moment. “Stay here and ask that blonde bomb for her number. She’s been staring at you the whole night,” he slurs, hoping he doesn’t sound as annoyed as he feels. People should stop hovering at him needlessly, and Jongin should stop pretending that he hasn’t noticed the flirtatious winks the girl had been sending him the entire evening. It makes Kyungsoo want to hurl, and it’s not because of the alcohol. “Have fun. I’ll go take a cab.”  
  
Sehun tuts and reaches out for Jongin’s shoulder, saying, “Don’t be hurt, Jongin-ssi. Kyungsoo hyung says stupid things when he’s had too much to drink.”  
  
“It’s okay,” Jongin assures him and hoists Kyungsoo up, his grip loose around Kyungsoo’s arm. “Come on, hyung. Let’s go.”  
  
The sultry, hungry stare doesn’t escape Kyungsoo’s notice. He can’t help it, but he glares at the girl as they walk past her.  
  
They wait for a cab to come. Kyungsoo’s not swaying on his feet, but he holds onto the railings just in case. “This is so stupid,” he finally says, not taking it anymore. “You said you liked girls.”  
  
Jongin looks at him, baffled. “What?”  
  
“I thought you were straight. You said you liked girls. She wanted you to break away from us and fuck her instead.” Kyungsoo’s not making sense, he knows. His whole head wants to smash itself on a wall and break into pieces. “Go back in there and leave me alone. Go fuck the living hell out of her. You’re straight, Jongin. You’re supposed to like girls.”   
  
Jongin gives him a pained look. “Hyung, I don’t… what are you saying?”  
  
“Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed her eyeing you like you’re candy or something.” Kyungsoo needs to stop whatever this is, this growing tightness in his chest. He needs to breathe. “I need a boundary,” he mumbles incoherently, hands drawing circles in the air. “I need a fucking boundary. Please tell me you like girls, Jongin. Only girls.”  
  
Jongin starts fidgeting relentlessly, and the way he nibbles at his lip and stares straight into Kyungsoo’s eyes makes his blood boil with that specific emotion he’s wanted so much to avoid.   
  
“I did notice,” Jongin says, words glass clear in the chaos that is Kyungsoo’s thoughts. “She’s pretty, but I don’t like her.”  
  
Kyungsoo forces himself to shut down and breathes through his mouth when the cab comes. “Okay,” he says. “Okay.”   
  
So she’s not Jongin’s type. It’s fine, Kyungsoo thinks. It’s definitely fine. Jongin deserves a better girl.  
  
Jongin who’s always patient and sweet and nice and loses his things all at once and makes stupid, cheesy poems at breakfast.  
  
_Boundaries_ , Kyungsoo tells himself.  _Stay in your lane, and no one will get hurt._  
  
The ride back to the apartment is quiet. 

****

  
  
  
Kyungsoo awakens at the noise of women arguing downstairs, probably the occupants of the second floor. The wife must’ve finally caught her husband cheating.  
  
He’s on his bed, and when he takes a look around, he finds Jongin lying on the floor. He must’ve carried Kyungsoo all the way to his room when the elder passed out on the cab. Spilling from the boy’s mouth is a patch of new drool, and his dress shirt is nowhere to be seen. Kyungsoo shakes his head rather fondly before he stops himself.  
  
“Jongin-ah, I like men,” Kyungsoo says softly, and then sighs. “You shouldn’t be baring yourself to me like this.”  
  
Jongin continues to snore, completely oblivious. 

****

  
  
  
“Should I cut it here?” Sehun asks.   
  
Kyungsoo shakes his head. “Go further.” There’s a part where Vince drops the Kool-Aid into the wrong trash bin. Even small details like this would prove to be important as the story unfolds.  
  
They spend the whole morning editing the movie, crisscrossing shots and smoothing them out until they stop looking choppy, and overlapping pre-recorded audio at the scenes where the honking cars drown out the dialogue. Kyungsoo makes tiny, shorthand scripts at the edge of the storyboard, checking and re-checking scenes one to fifty-eight until Sehun’s phone rings.  
  
“Aren’t you going to pick that up?” Kyungsoo says after he’s peeked at the caller ID. “It sounds urgent.”  
  
“Chanyeol always calls instead of texts,” Sehun mutters, gaze oddly fixed on his laptop screen. “That dumb oaf thinks I like hearing his obnoxious voice more.”  
  
“Well, don’t you?” Kyungsoo asks.   
  
Sehun can’t hide that colossal blush no matter how much he tries. His face scrunches in distaste. “Shut up, hyung. I hate it that you only talk to me when you want to tease me about Chanyeol.” He still picks up the fourth time his phone rings.   
  
Kyungsoo hides a victorious smirk as he looks down at his papers.  
  
They finish at quarter before one, a little later than usual, with Sehun having his phone wedged in between his shoulder and his ear as he works. Kyungsoo doesn’t mind though, since he’s supposed to meet Yuri at five in the afternoon, and it’ll be a quick journey if he takes the subway. Plus, he’s rather amused hearing Sehun make half-hearted attempts to shoot down Chanyeol’s advances. Sehun will figure it out eventually, Kyungsoo knows. He’s a smart kid.  
  
Chelsea definitely looks better in spring than in winter, the neighborhood’s trees lining the streets with green life and the many flowerboxes decorating with many-colored blooms. Kyungsoo takes lithe steps to the front porch of a small colonial and rings the doorbell.  
  
“Kyungsoo!” Yuri greets and encases his slight frame in a tight hug. “It’s so nice to see you again after such a long time!”  
  
Kyungsoo laughs lightly. “It’s only been four months, noona.”  
  
“The twins are still at school. They said they have this school production to practice for, so they’d be home late.”  
  
“That’s fine. And I’m sorry about Baekhyun. You know how he is.”  
  
Yuri nods gravely and ushers him inside. Nothing much has changed: his parents’ collection of china is still aligned on top of the living room shelf, the couch remains this unpleasant maroon color that Kyungsoo detests, and the staircase to the bedrooms is as white as he remembers when he decided to move out. His dad’s business books are peppered with dust along with Seungsoo’s comic collection, and the old boombox that Kyungsoo bought on his first day in Manhattan sits idly next to the hanbok dolls.  
  
Yuri comes back from the kitchen with tea and rice cakes, and they delve into a comfortable conversation about Hyerin and Sunjae, about Yuri’s new job at the nearby pharmacy, and about Baekhyun’s girlfriend Taeyeon. Kyungsoo also shares bits and pieces about the film they’re working on, and Yuri listens with rapt attention, smiling and laughing at the mentions of her quirky brother-in-law messing up his lines somewhere in between takes.  
  
“God, I miss Baekhyun so much,” Yuri says wistfully. She takes a sip from her cup, and Kyungsoo holds back a frown.   
  
“Baekhyunniee…” He sighs. “Baekhyunnie’s lying about not wanting to be here, I can tell. Please don’t take it personally, noona. He likes you a lot. Hyerin and Sunjae just look a lot like Baekbeom. He’s still upset about it, even though he denies it every time.”  
  
Yuri sighs. “Even if I’m still sad that my husband isn’t with us anymore, I’ve already accepted that there aren’t that many things that I could change.”   
  
Kyungsoo finishes his tea in one sip, silently agreeing. That’s why he’s making the most of it, he supposes, by helping out.  
  
Yuri gives Kyungsoo a small smile, like she’s read his thoughts. “Thank you, Kyungsoo,” she says. “For always looking out for me. For the twins.”  
  
Kyungsoo studies the residue at the bottom of his cup. “It’s the least I could do,” he says in a small voice, and Yuri reaches out to put a gentle hand over his.   
  
“I’ve never held a grudge against your brother, Kyungsoo. Don’t ever think that it was Seungsoo’s fault, and that you now have this obligation to take care of my family. That accident was a long time ago.”  
  
Yuri has told him that so many times Kyungsoo’s already lost count, but something still claws on his throat, and maybe it’s guilt and hurt and frustration meshed together into one, unknown feeling.   
  
Kyungsoo had been there in that same, rinky-dink bar, along with Baekhyun, Baekbeom, Seungsoo, and a couple of other friends. The wintry streets were enough of a warning as it was.  
  
Byun Baekbeom dying in that car crash and leaving Baekhyun without a brother, Yuri without a husband and the twins without a father — it’s all Kyungsoo’s responsibility. Every bit of it. 

****

  
  
  
“Hyung! You’re back!”  
  
The door closes behind him with a soft click. Kyungsoo squints at the gigantic pizza on the table. “Is there a special occasion today that I forgot about?”  
  
Jongin grins, and in a flash, he’s already at Kyungsoo’s side, taking Kyungsoo’s bag and helping him remove his coat. It leaves no time for Kyungsoo to react when Jongin’s fingers slide against the seams of his inner shirt, leaving a trail of warmth there. “Come on, hyung! The pizza’s getting cold.”  
  
Kyungsoo looks at him in amusement as they take a seat on the couch. “Somebody’s excited. Did something happen?”  
  
“Nothing noteworthy,” the younger says. He hands Kyungsoo a slice of Hawaiian, and Kyungsoo rips a big chunk of it with his teeth.   
  
Jongin laughs, the peculiar, high-pitched laugh that makes him sound like he’s choking, and it’s turning into Kyungsoo’s favorite out of all of Jongin’s laughs. “I got my midterm results. Full marks in almost every one.” He puffs out his chest a little. “And it’s Tuesday, so that means you’re home early. I thought we could splurge a little tonight.”  
  
Kyungsoo congratulates him with a ruffle of his hair. “Great job, kiddo,” he says. “You turned into a zombie in that eventful two weeks. You deserve it.”  
  
The 21” pizza disappears in a matter of minutes, and Kyungsoo suddenly finds his head on Jongin’s lap, beer sloshing in his hand as his arm sways a little. Jongin is threading Kyungsoo’s hair with his fingers, and it feels so nice that Kyungsoo doesn’t find their current position compromising at all.  
  
An ad of a girl showering with a famous brand of soap pops out of the television. In another universe, Kyungsoo would probably find her attractive.  
  
“Hey,” Kyungsoo says to break the silence. “Doesn’t she look like that receptionist in the studio?”  
  
It takes Jongin long to answer. “She was a blonde. That one’s a brunette.”  
  
Kyungsoo makes a knowing hum in his throat. He downs a couple more beers and tries to ignore the ringing in his eardrums.  
  
Jongin grunts and flips through the channels with his other hand. After a few minutes of aimless viewing, he turns the TV off.  
  
Kyungsoo groans. “Hey. I was watching that.”  
  
“No, you weren’t,” Jongin counters. His fingertips are still caressing Kyungsoo’s scalp. “They were showing a factory about crayons. That kind of thing doesn’t interest you.”  
  
“I like pretty colors,” Kyungsoo argues back, and Jongin’s delighted, husky laugh leaves an imprint on Kyungsoo’s alcohol-clogged brain.  
  
Jongin gives his hair a slight tug. “You’re so drunk, hyung,” he says. “You get drunk so easily. What am I going to do with you?”  
  
“Don’t leave me alone like last time,” Kyungsoo hears himself say. He then sighs. He’s spewing nonsense again.  
  
“Okay,” Jongin says. He lifts Kyungsoo’s head and readjusts their positions, making sure that Kyungsoo’s comfortable.   
  
The boy’s legs must be numb by now. Kyungsoo’s such a terrible hyung.  
  
“Jongin,” Kyungsoo drawls. His nose wrinkles when he smells his own breath fogged with beer and pizza. “Stop being so nice to me. Go have fun with the other kids.”  
  
Jongin stares at him oddly. “I like hanging out with you,” he whispers. “I like you, hyung.”  
  
“Don’t you have friends?” Kyungsoo says. He’s not going to listen to the thundering in his chest. “Go hang out with them, with people your own age. Social status. Whatever. Not with someone like me.”  
  
There’s hurt in Jongin’s eyes. “You’re not much older than me. We’re not that different either. Why do you keep insisting that you are?”  
  
_We are different_ , Kyungsoo thinks. They are so, so different in so many ways that it physically hurts when Kyungsoo catches himself wishing that they weren’t. “Boundaries,” he mumbles.  
  
“What?”  
  
“I need to establish a boundary,” Kyungsoo says. He does a quick but sloppy swipe in the air to prove his point. “Without it, I might end up making a mistake that we’d both regret.”  
  
The other man goes silent until he says, “Is this a mistake?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Kyungsoo confesses, keeping his voice from wobbling and betraying what he really feels. He can’t expect Jongin to be there every time he comes home from work. He can’t depend on Jongin. He can’t have Jongin. “But it might.”  
  
Something hot presses on Kyungsoo’s arm. Kyungsoo’s too woozy to check what it is. “Is this because of Baekhyun hyung?” Jongin says. His tone is off. “Does he want you to move in with him instead?”  
  
“What?” Kyungsoo says tiredly. “Why are we talking about Baekhyun all of a sudden?”  
  
“Don’t you love him?” Jongin’s face is so close that Kyungsoo’s breath mingles with his.   
  
Kyungsoo’s head pounds. “I don’t,” he says. “I did but I — I never said I still do, Jongin.”  
  
That seems to calm Jongin a bit. Nevertheless, he doesn’t move away, and instead runs a thumb on Kyungsoo’s bloated lips to wipe away the streak of spit and alcohol. The tender gesture makes Kyungsoo’s heart all achey inside. Jongin’s eyes are tender and warm, and nothing like Baekhyun’s sharp and teasing ones. Jongin is too soft. Too soft.  
  
“I don’t want to talk about Baekhyun,” Kyungsoo continues, even if Jongin’s thumb is still on his lower lip.   
  
Jongin nods. “Okay.”  
  
“I don’t love him.”  
  
“Okay. You don’t love Baekhyun hyung.”  
  
“Right.” Kyungsoo sighs deeply. “I don’t know where you got that notion.” He yawns.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Jongin professes. Kyungsoo feels him inch closer, and he’s so out of it that he can see the younger man’s face even in this shade of darkness, heartbreakingly handsome and out of reach. “You just talk about Baekhyun hyung a lot that I thought you did.”  
  
“Why are you thinking about that?” Kyungsoo mumbles with a small laugh. “You’re young, but life’s pretty short. You shouldn’t be thinking about things that don’t matter.”  
  
Jongin stiffens under him, like Kyungsoo’s words tasered him somehow. “It matters a lot to me.”  
  
Kyungsoo half-wails, half-laughs. Baekhyun was right. He really can’t handle this.  
  
Kyungsoo reaches out to touch Jongin’s hair, letting his fingers interweave with the other man’s brown locks. He’s seen the way it stands when Jongin has just rolled out of bed, and he’s seen the way it gets puffy when the weather turns humid. But now, it’s really soft and smooth, and Kyungsoo loves the way it falls back to Jongin’s forehead as soon as he lets go.  
  
“Hyung…” Jongin croaks, his Adam’s apple bobbing quite starkly on his throat. His eyes are wide and dazed, and he’s gripping tightly onto Kyungsoo’s arm.   
  
Kyungsoo flicks away the hair on Jongin’s forehead, and searches for that tiny pimple he’d seen in the first few weeks he’d met Jongin, the one near his left eyebrow. But it’s gone now, and Kyungsoo can only sigh in defeat.  
  
“Kim Jongin,” he breathes. “You’re getting really handsome so fast. That’s not fair.” He laughs, quiet but trembling.  
  
“I don’t think that it’s not,” Jongin says after a while, and his voice is just as ragged as Kyungsoo’s. “What isn’t fair is that you won’t stop seeing me as a kid.” And suddenly, there’s something warm and plush being pressed to Kyungsoo’s lips.   
  
Jongin tilts his chin sideways, and it feels really, really good too, the way Jongin kisses him softly. Kyungsoo parts his mouth and lets the fire eclipse the haze in his brain.   
  
Jongin’s hand cups the side of Kyungsoo’s face as he licks the roof of the elder’s mouth, eliciting a moan from the two of them. The kiss is gentle, languid, almost innocent if it weren’t for the hushed, longing sounds they’re making. Kyungsoo angles his head and takes more of Jongin’s mouth, stopping only for a second of breath before Jongin gets too impatient and presses their lips again.  
  
It’ll be gone in the morning, Kyungsoo thinks, as Jongin nips the bud of his lower lip. The drunken miasma, the heat of Jongin’s arms, the taste of Jongin’s mouth – they’ll all be replaced with the torture of a hangover, the coldness of the spring wind, and the taste of paracetamol on the tip of his tongue.  
  
“I’m not a kid, Kyungsoo,” Jongin whispers to his ear when they break apart for the second time.  
  
“Okay,” Kyungsoo says, and there it is, the coil in his stomach, the icy stab in his spine. The familiar tightness in his chest, and the painful swelling of his heart threatening to burst and leave nothing behind.  
  
This is not a feeling. The slow burn in Kyungsoo’s lungs is not a feeling.  
  
Jongin kisses him deeply, this time.

****

  
  
  
“Hyung?”  
  
“Mhmm,” Kyungsoo hums. His eyelids are heavy again, so he doesn’t open them. His mind feels like its swimming twenty laps in a pool of mud – Kyungsoo guesses that he’s probably dreaming.  
  
A rustle of sheets. Warm fingers trailing his forehead. Kyungsoo dreams of Jongin pressed to his side, an arm wrapped around his waist comfortably.  
  
“Do you want to hear a story?” Jongin says.  
  
“Sure,” Kyungsoo breathes out, even though a part of him wants to head back to a dreamless slumber. It seems like he can’t refuse Dream Jongin as much as he can’t refuse Real Life Jongin. “Is it a children’s story?”  
  
“I guess so,” Jongin says and chuckles. His laugh is so nice, just like Real Life Jongin’s. It might have made its way into Kyungsoo’s subconscious and embedded itself there.  
  
Kyungsoo imagines himself pressing his nose to the crook of Jongin’s neck, inhaling deep. He imagines Jongin pulling him close.  
  
“Once upon a time,” Jongin starts. “There was this boy. He was a high school student from Dwight, with dark skin that made the other kids pick on him a lot. He was fairly smart though, and he used to be part of the football club so he was fast enough to outrun the bullies. He was also never late for school, until he ran into trouble one Monday morning in March when he was in 11th grade.”  
  
“Did the bullies finally catch up to him?”  
  
“No. It was, well… it was for a very stupid reason, actually,” Jongin narrates, and then snorts. “His foot got stuck in wet concrete when he chose to walk on a part of the road that was under maintenance. He was daydreaming, so he hadn’t seen the patch of cement and his foot got buried ankle-deep. The boy was a dancer too. He loved dancing so much, so when his left foot started to ache, he got really scared. There were a lot of people in the streets, but nobody came to help him.”  
  
This story seems familiar. Perhaps Kyungsoo’s read this before in a newspaper article, or a magazine, and his brain decided to dredge it out somewhere in the ocean of memories. Dreams are funny things, really.   
  
“But there was this one guy,” Jongin says after a long moment. “They understood each other because they spoke the same words, the same language, and the man was kind enough to help the kid. He cleaned him up, bandaged his foot, and asked for someone to call the hospital to mend his sprained ankle.”  
  
Kyungsoo’s heart feels heavy, but it’s not enough to anchor his thoughts that are starting to float away. “Now that you mention it,” Kyungsoo starts hoarsely. “That kid kind of reminds me of you, Jongin.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Yeah,” Kyungsoo says. “He’s a dancer, and he’s sort of an airhead.” He smiles. “And there’s that sense of blind trust and all. He sounds a lot like you.”  
  
Jongin’s answering laugh sounds off. “We have a lot of things in common,” he agrees. “He quickly falls in love too, just like me.”  
  
“Oh.” Kyungsoo feels his breath leave him with a loud woosh. The pounding in his temples signify the upcoming hangover. “So… did the boy,” he says weakly. “You know. With the man?”  
  
“They didn’t meet again for a long time. But the boy… it’s probably strange to other people, but he’d grown to admire the stranger who helped him. The man was handsome and kind and a bit mysterious. The bane of every seventeen-year-old.”  
  
Kyungsoo nods in understanding, and Jongin continues, “For the next two years, the boy took the same road to school, just in case Fate was in a good mood. He thought, if they saw each other again, he would finally get to say his ‘thank you’ properly this time. Maybe ask him out for a cup of coffee. Ask his name, his phone number,” Jongin says. “11th graders have their own, weird way of nursing crushes. Crafting embarrassing fantasies of romantic walks around Central Park is one of them.”  
  
It’s true, Kyungsoo thinks. He remembers being seventeen, and wishing every night that he’d stop thinking about kissing his handsome seatmate and start liking Bang Minah instead.  
  
Kyungsoo’s subconscious goes on overdrive, and he’s suddenly imagining Jongin nuzzling his hair. This is probably the most vivid dream he’s ever had.  
  
He tries to hang on to his consciousness for one last time. “What you just said a while ago… did that mean they saw each other again in the future?”  
  
“Yeah. Yeah, they did.”  
  
“What happened?”  
  
“Well,” Jongin starts, and then something hot and lush presses at Kyungsoo’s cheek. “He’s definitely not what the boy expected after all.”  
  
“Did the man turn out to be some kind of axe murderer?”  
  
“No,” Jongin says, voice low. “The man’s definitely nice, but he’s not at all perfect like the boy thought he was.”  
  
Kyungsoo makes a hum of disappointment. “That’s a shame. You know what they say about hero-worship.”  
  
“It’s not that bad. The boy actually fell in love with him even more,” Jongin says. “He started feeling strange, one day, but he’s not too naïve not to realize what was coming.”  
  
Kyungsoo sighs. “How can the boy give his heart so easily like that, though?” he says, and then exhales again tiredly. “Your stories need more work, Jongin. That one sounds like it’s going to end up in tragedy. Kids won’t like that.” Kyungsoo dreams of holding Jongin by the hand, squeezing it tightly in reassurance, before letting go.  
  
“You have no idea how strong a simple admiration can grow when it starts budding at age seventeen.” Jongin chuckles, the sound deep, throaty, and rich, and Kyungsoo bids Dream Jongin a goodbye.

****

  
  
  
The most awkward breakfast happens on a Wednesday.  
  
The sun has already come up now, and it’s a really beautiful sight, the sun rays peeking behind the tall, apartment storeys. Unfortunately, Kyungsoo isn’t in a mood to stand and admire the view from the window. Crawling with a massive hangover, Kyungsoo rolls out of Jongin’s bed like an ungraceful newborn bat. He tugs at his hair repeatedly until it becomes painful, the only sure-fire way he can wake himself up.   
  
Jongin squawks when he sees him. “Morning,” he says, looking down, probably waiting for a new toe to sprout from his foot.   
  
“Hi,” Kyungsoo greets back. He scratches the itch in his tummy absent-mindedly. “Do you have any extra sheets? Sorry, I think I drooled all over your baseball printed ones. I’ll go change it for you.”  
  
Jongin snaps his head up, and Kyungsoo worries that he might have cracked a bone or two in his neck with that abrupt action.  
  
“What?” Kyungsoo says when Jongin won’t stop staring at him. “What? Is there something on my face?” He almost runs to the bathroom, but then the younger holds him off with a quick tug of a hand.  
  
Jongin’s eyebrows come together thoughtfully. “Hyung, there’s nothing wrong with your face,” he says, and then frowns. “You were drunker than I thought. Of course you won’t remember…” His lips pucker, sourly, and suddenly, there’s a yard’s distance between the two of them.  
  
They eat toast with peanut butter and jelly, scrambled eggs on top of a bowl of fried rice. Kyungsoo turns tense from head to toe as the silence blankets over them like winter snow. Jongin is pointedly ignoring him, his lower lip jutting out as he slaps his butter knife on his slice of bread. Under different circumstances, Kyungsoo would find it cute, but his brain is too busy coursing through fuzzy memories.  
  
They were watching TV last night, eating pizza. They talked about Baekhyun for a while, and Kyungsoo had been rather giggly after that, much to his utter humiliation.   
  
He decides to observe Jongin instead, hoping that something will kick in. He wonders if he’s overdosed on the analgesics this time.  
  
He almost stretches over the table to wipe the brown streak of peanut butter at the side of Jongin’s cheek, but then Kyungsoo’s gaze suddenly drops to Jongin’s mouth, and his mouth looks really nice and puffy and —  
  
_Oh._  
  
“Did I…?” Kyungsoo’s hand falls lamely back to his side as Jongin looks up. There are bread crumps at the corners of his lips. Kyungsoo’s stomach heaves. “Did we…?”  
  
“Yeah. Yeah, we did,” Jongin says, sounding irritated. He props his neck with his hand and turns his attention back to his sandwich.   
  
“I kissed you,” Kyungsoo mutters in disbelief. His ears feel hot. This is everything that he feared. The end of April is almost near, and he’s already in big trouble.  
  
Jongin stabs his bread. “Don’t fret too much. I was the one who kissed you first.” Kyungsoo can’t see his face anymore, but he knows all too well that Jongin is angry. “And it doesn’t matter that you kissed me back.” Stab. “Just forget about it.” Another stab.  
  
“You’re mad at me,” Kyungsoo says in a small voice.  
  
Jongin glowers at him. “I gave you so many hints, and you always chose to ignore them,” he grumbles. There’s a gaping hole in his sandwich right now. “Why do I have to tell you everything straight out?”   
  
“What hints? Hey, wait a sec,” Kyungsoo says. He stops Jongin from poking his bread, rubbing the younger’s wrist in a comforting gesture. “Listen to me.”  
  
Jongin bites his lower lip and puts his knife down.   
  
Kyungsoo runs a hand through his hair, sighing when it tangles with the ends. He blows his bangs out of his eyes. “Jongin,” he says. “You know that I’m not like the others, right?” He inhales, holding Jongin’s gaze firmly. “I’m attracted to men, not women.”  
  
Silence.  
  
“I know,” Jongin mutters after a beat. “I figured when you said you dated Baekhyun hyung before.”  
  
Kyungsoo swallows thickly. “I’m sorry. For everything. I wasn’t supposed to…” He takes one long, deep breath. “If it really makes you uncomfortable, I’ll pack my things later as soon as you leave for school. I promise you won’t see me again when you come back.”  
  
A sound of a knife grating ceramic, and Jongin’s gaze turns unblinking against his own. “What are you saying right now?” Jongin says frantically, and his bewildered look confuses the hell out of Kyungsoo more than anything else. “You’re not making me feel uncomfortable – why are you suddenly saying that you want to leave?”  
  
“Doesn’t it bother you that I like guys?” Kyungsoo says. “Doesn’t it bother you that you kissed a man? Isn’t that why you’re angry with me?”  
  
Jongin stares at him blankly, before he gives Kyungsoo an equally incredulous look. “What – no! I’m not mad at you because of that. That’s not what I meant at all,” he clarifies. His eyebrows then furrow in frustration. “Why the hell do you keep seeing things your own way?”  
  
“Then what are you saying?” Kyungsoo presses. “I thought you wanted an apology for last night.”  
  
“I don’t want a  _fucking_  apology from you, hyung! I just want you to —” Jongin stops himself, biting his lip furiously, and there’s a thin sheen in his eyes that tells Kyungsoo too much.   
  
The other man’s fingers tug at the creases of the tablemat. “Do you remember all the things I said to you last night?”   
  
Kyungsoo pulls at his sweaty shirt and says, “You don’t want me to call you a kid anymore. And I won’t. I promise.”  
  
“And?” Jongin says, his voice unsteady. “I told you something else. It’s important.”  
  
Kyungsoo goes silent, not wanting to acknowledge the dull ache in his heart, and Jongin’s expression shatters.  
  
“You’re really cruel, hyung,” Jongin whispers, and it’s not harsh nor full of hate, but full of sadness and longing.  
  
Jongin takes his plate and places it gently on top of the dishwasher, allowing the rushing stream of tap water to fill in the silence and the gaps of Kyungsoo’s rejection. He packs his schoolbag and scuttles out of the apartment without another word. He leaves the door open behind him.

****

  
  
  
Kyungsoo was right. Sarah did die, in the end.  
  
Or at least, Kyungsoo considers it the end, because he’s not going to open that book anymore after that scene. Just as when he thought things were going well with Edward Tulane’s new family, the author swept the rug under him, swift and decisive. What a perfectly stupid story arc. It’s a children’s book. Things like that shouldn’t happen in a children’s book.   
  
“Expect light showers for tomorrow, folks!” the weatherman had said last night. Taking heed, Kyungsoo’s raincoat is stuffed deep inside his backpack.  
  
Out in the hallway, he checks. Unit 3 is still empty.  
  
The metal stairs cringe at each step Kyungsoo takes as he descends, and the dark clouds hover eerily close to the ground when he steps outside of the building.  
  
There’s a light blue plastic bag covering the bike seat again.  _Take care, hyung_ , the note over it says. There’s no smiley on it this time.  
  
Kyungsoo crushes the note in his palm. So it  _is_  him. Jongin was the mystery person, all along.  
  
“Stupid kid,” Kyungsoo says, and he’s angry that he doesn’t mean it, and he gets angrier when he realizes that he’s not supposed to be calling Jongin a kid anymore. Stupid. The whole world is stupid.  
  
He takes the same avenue, the same road, the same shortcuts to the community garden. He arrives just in time as the rain starts to fall on the city, and he has to take refuge in a quiet yogurt shop with thatched roofing. He orders the cheapest one from the tarpaulin, a vanilla one with banana-flavored sprinkles, and opens his laptop and scrapes by.  
  
The film is good, at least. It’s structured the way Kyungsoo wanted, with a couple of justified adlibs here and there, thanks to Baekhyun’s insatiable greed to make something out of nothing and be praised for it, and Junmyeon’s special appearance in the dance studio with a black eye and all.   
  
It’s something to be expected, Kyungsoo supposes, but its’ still really something, that Junmyeon’s parents hadn’t received the news of Junmyeon dating a guy that well. Just really, traditional Korean parenthood swings that way. Kyungsoo’s own parents had been a bit unconventional, and still, it took a lot of water for mister and missus Do’s gullets to clear when he told them the reason why he’d never have a girlfriend to go out with during St. Patrick’s Day.  
  
All that’s missing is the ending now. He’ll have to submit the final reel in June to Jimmy, so he has two months to spare. However, Sehun’s going to be busy in May with his finals, so Kyungsoo has to iron out all the kinks before that. Kyungsoo jots it down in his notebook, cramped next to the tiny blocks full of phone numbers, billing dates, and Seungsoo’s visiting schedule. There’s really nothing cool about being organized, Kyungsoo thinks. It really only reminds him how much he’s failing in life as a whole.  
  
The clouds clear, but it’s already late. Kyungsoo’s date with his favorite willow tree will have to wait for another day. He puts on his raincoat and untangles his bike from the post. He pays the homeless man a bit more than he would usually do, considering the rain, and pedals his way back to East 6th.  
  
Jongin won’t be home until five, but it looks like he’ll be out for a little longer today. Kyungsoo stretches his back on the sofa, dead tired from all the work he did today, so he whips himself a cup of coffee. Kyungsoo tolerates the ugly brown sludge, but at this pace he’ll start to hate it real soon.   
  
Jongin still isn’t back when the clock strikes ten, and Kyungsoo’s already downed three cups. He might not be able to think properly when Jongin arrives, but the important thing is that he’ll be able to see Jongin.  
  
“I hate my horrible life,” Kate Winslet proclaims when he decides to turn on the TV. Kyungsoo ayes and lifts his empty coffee cup in return.  
  
The Christmas movie ends at twelve, and there’re already three messages on his phone, blinking red. Kyungsoo flicks it open and reads.  
  
_I’m going to be sleeping over @ tao’s place til Saturday_  
  
Kyungsoo closes it and reads the other.  
  
_I’m guessing you’re out drinking with your friends..... don’t be out late.. & don’t drink too much._  
  
The third message says,  _or maybe you’re asleep right now. sleep well, hyung._  
  
Kyungsoo face plants on the couch. Why are there no smileys? To a chronic-emoticon abuser such as Jongin, it only signifies that they’re having The Fight right now. Kyungsoo hates smileys, but he hates fights even more.   
  
“Thanks for keeping me company,” Kyungsoo says to the rolling credits and cleans up the living room. He’s still thinking of a good reply, but in the end he settles with a short and simple, _Ok_.  
  
He retreats to his bedroom, and with all that caffeine in his system, he can’t fall asleep. He paces three times before his eyes land on the open page of  _The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane._  
  
Kyungsoo sighs and opens his laptop. He writes.

****

 

  
“Hello,” Zitao greets quietly. He slides a bottle of water and a dollar across the counter.  
  
Kyungsoo trades it with the change and an eco bag full of Jongin’s clothes. “His books are in there. And there’s also his favorite pillow at the very bottom, the one with the stripes and stuff,” he rambles on. He hands Tao two Japanese bentos, much like the one that Jongin had fawned over the day they watched Home Shopping while waiting for  _The Way We Were_  to load on Netflix. “I made you guys dinner so you don’t have to eat out. Tell Jongin to stop stuffing himself with shit from KFC —”  
  
“Kyungsoo-ssi, why are you so worried?” Zitao asks. He seems genuinely curious, and also a bit amused, judging from the way his lip curls into a feline-like grin.  
  
Kyungsoo’s mouth is caught in mid-rant, and he shuts it soundly like a snapping turtle.   
  
Zitao’s right. Jongin’s fine, perhaps even better now that Kyungsoo’s not there to make things awful. It’s only for three days, and Kyungsoo’s almost through the second day without the younger man slobbering all over the entire apartment. Tonight he’ll come home as soon as his shift ends, and the loneliness will be loud enough to smother all the noises coming from the city streets below. He’ll be able to delve into Gelo, Mary, and Vince’s world and craft an ending that he himself could only hope to have.  
  
Kyungsoo takes a small step out of his cave. “How… how is he?”  
  
Zitao shrugs. “He’s fine. He keeps on whining a lot like a gigantic baby. He’s really pissy that he hasn’t written anything again.” He pauses. “Jonginnie misses you a lot.”  
  
“Oh.” Kyungsoo feels winded. “Did he say anything?”  
  
“He hasn’t mentioned you since yesterday, if that’s what you’re curious about.” Zitao chuckles. “But he keeps on doodling you on his notebook with those three poodles he left back in his parents’ house, getting all glassy-eyed and everything.” His grin turns wistful and full of fondness. “He draws your smile like a heart. The resemblance is actually uncanny, now that I think about it.”  
  
When Kyungsoo goes silent, Zitao nudges him playfully and gives him a wink. “I’ll tell that dork that you miss him too.”  
  
“Thanks,” Kyungsoo breathes.  
  
Zitao’s mouth quirks in delight. “You two dumbos will figure it out, eventually,” he teases and pumps his fist. “Fighting, Kyungsoo-ssi!”  
  
The horrid weight on Kyungsoo’s shoulder suddenly lifts, and as the bell chimes again, Kyungsoo’s glad that Jongin has sweethearts like Zitao in his life. Kyungsoo is slightly relieved because of this and also a bit anxious. Jongin practically has everything already, and where does that leave him? He’s probably not going to fit anywhere in Jongin’s life, and even if he tried, it wouldn’t be like the way Jongin had seamlessly embedded himself in Kyungsoo’s own. It makes his heart ache a little, and he searches for microscopic dusts on the register to keep busy and deaden the pain.

****

  
  
“Hey, hyung,” Kyungsoo had said an hour ago, tapping Junmyeon’s shoulder. The older man eyed him blearily, and Kyungsoo almost regretted disturbing his sleep. He knew Junmyeon only gets so little, these days. “Can I talk to you for a while?”  
  
And that’s how the two of them ended up in a store selling golf equipment. Junmyeon walks him through everything about the sport and the goods as they go. Kyungsoo knows that the balls are really heavy, probably heavier than his phone, but he’s amazed all the same.  
  
Kyungsoo swears that Junmyeon looks very skinny in all the times he’s seen him, and the sweaters don’t help. Chanyeol and Sehun used to tease them both for wearing “shabby shit”. Kyungsoo has his absence of a real paycheck as an excuse, though. Junmyeon is just… Junmyeon.  
  
A few moments after they’ve got settled, and Junmyeon is running his fingers over the padded shirts, he says, “I know what you’re going to ask.” He smiles at Kyungsoo. “I’m okay now, don’t worry.”  
  
Kyungsoo looks straight ahead at the dashboard. There are numbers everywhere. Weight of the golf clubs, their length —  
  
Junmyeon places a light hand on his shoulder. He titters. “Seriously, Kyungsoo. I’m alright.”  
  
Kyungsoo nods. “Okay.” His eyes stray to Junmyeon’s kind face for a while, before going back to the dashboard again. “Yifan-ssi,” he starts, wringing his wrists. “Did he…?”  
  
Junmyeon’s eyes widen. “No! No, of course not! He would never hurt me,” he exclaims.  
  
Kyungsoo winces. Well, it was a good guess. Yifan, Kyungsoo knows how to deal with, but the alternative… “Did they find out?”  
  
Junmyeon nods. He pokes at the bruise around his eye unconsciously. “Yeah. Dad threw me out of the house for a solid week, but really, Kyungsoo. Don’t worry about it. I’m good now. Day job’s a scarier bitch than before, no thanks to my folks, but I’m fine. Tell that to the rest of the crew too, yeah?”  
  
“And Yifan-ssi?” Kyungsoo presses.  
  
Junmyeon frowns minutely. “I thought it would be best if we’d lie a bit low for a while.”  
  
Kyungsoo tips his head gravely, getting it.   
  
“You’ve always been a bit too serious for your own good,” Junmyeon says after a while they’ve left the store, walking away empty-handed. “Everyone messes something up once in a while. I’m not an exception to that, and so are you. Nothing’s perfect.”  
  
“I can do without the nugget of wisdom, hyung,” Kyungsoo replies. He drags his fingers on his forearm, calming himself.  
  
Junmyeon glances at him sideways. “Just saying. You don’t have to be batshit crazy like Chanyeol and Baekhyun. If there’s anything I’ve learned in all this, is that being so tightly-wound about everything’s going to set you back more than help you move forward.”  
  
Kyungsoo isn’t even sure what they’re talking about exactly. “If you want to quit, settle things with your family, you know.” He exhales loudly. “Just… whatever you want. I’ll make sure Baekhyun doesn’t whine about it.”  
  
“I got punched in the face by my father when he found I was into guys, Kyungsoo,” Junmyeon says, all the while holding back an amused smile. “Doesn’t change the fact that you need me in this movie. And for everything else.” He winks.  
  
Kyungsoo snorts. “Such a professional, hyung,” he says.

****

  
  
The guard knows him by face, not by name. He tips his cap and calls Kyungsoo “Ben” when he enters. Kyungsoo gives him a small smile nonetheless.  
  
He gets patted down for any harmful, pointy objects before he’s released to the visitor’s area. There’s a  _No Smoking_  sign posted on the leftmost side of the bulletproof glass’s fencing, and there are already three inmates talking to their loved ones at the station. Seungsoo is waiting for him at the other side, index finger tapping on the sleek grey table.  
  
Kyungsoo scratches his neck before he leans in on the glass. “I saw your fact sheet just now,” he says. “Refusing parole again?”  
  
Seungsoo’s blank expression suddenly turns amused. “I’ve missed you, little guy. How are you?”  
  
“I’ll be fine if you answer my question.”  
  
Seungsoo smirks even wider. “Such a lawn dart.” He chuckles. “You’re getting so wound up, these days. How’s the film?”  
  
“I’m much deadlier than a lawn dart,” Kyungsoo says, aggravated. Of course he’s wound up — he’s got a lot of people relying on him that he can’t mess up and — damn it, he needs to calm down. He takes a deep breath, and taps the glass three times and cocks an eyebrow. “Answer my question first, hyung. What’s the fucking problem this time?”  
  
“I’ll miss my friends. I’ve made a lot here.”  
  
“Wrong answer. Give me something else.”  
  
Seungsoo laughs mutedly. “We have one hour, Kyungsoo. What’s the rush? Tell me more about your life – it’s probably much more interesting than mine.”  
  
Kyungsoo should’ve expected this visit was going to be another Spanish Inquisition. As much as he would like to be direct and serious about this, Seungsoo likes tailing after things in a rather round-about way. If it weren’t for their looks and birth certificates, Kyungsoo would not even think that they’re related at all. He sighs. “The film’s okay. Everyone’s okay. My life’s okay.”  
  
“You say that every time you come and visit,” Seungsoo quips, chuckling as he goes. “Tell me something else that is not within the span of being ‘okay’.”  
  
“You being on the other side of this glass is ‘not okay’,” Kyungsoo replies shortly, making air quotes with his fingers.  
  
“How’s Baekhyun?” Seungsoo says, deftly changing the subject, and Kyungsoo narrows his eyes at him. The older man only flashes him a tiny smile in return. “How’s Yuri? The twins?”  
  
“They’re fine. The twins are probably better suited for an acting career. The neighborhood won’t stop talking about how good they were on stage.”  
  
“Baekbeom’s going to be so disappointed to hear that. He wanted Hyerin to be a model and Sunjae to be a football player.” Seungsoo shakes his head fondly. “He used to talk about how much he was prepping himself for fatherhood. Yuri thought that the kids would be growing up in glass jars or something. That didn’t happen though, obviously, but it would’ve been hilarious to see.”  
  
“Yeah. Glass jars.” Kyungsoo’s throat constricts. “Haha.”  
  
“And what about you, you big fat liar? You’re obviously not fine. And you promised me that you’d be fine when you visited last month.”   
  
Kyungsoo shrugs. “I am.”  
  
Seungsoo, looking unconvinced, gestures at Kyungsoo’s fingers. “Your nails are disappearing. You didn’t bite them down as much as when Dad got sick. What’s happening, Kyungsoo?”  
  
“Nothing,” Kyungsoo answers immediately. “Just a bit of a money problem, but it’s fine. We’ve always had money problems.”  
  
“But this one looks like it’s pretty big,” Seungsoo says in concern, and Kyungsoo wants to tell him that no, he’s not only having money problems as of the moment.  
  
“I’ll manage. I always do.” Kyungsoo rights himself on the uncomfortable plastic seat. His back aches, and he hunches even further in defeat. “Can we get back to our initial discussion already?”  
  
“Which was?”  
  
Kyungsoo glares at him meaningfully, and Seungsoo laughs like he’s having a swell time. His lips don’t make a heart shape like Kyungsoo’s, but Seungsoo is nothing less than handsome when he laughs like that. Seungsoo has always been the good-looking one between the two of them. He probably would have a family of his own now with lots of kids, if he wasn’t stuck here doing penance.  
  
“What’s another three more years?” Seungsoo asks rhetorically. “I don’t have anything out there waiting for me.”  
  
“You have me,” Kyungsoo says quietly, and Seungsoo chuckles and taps the glass.  
  
“Of course I have you.” He beams shortly. “But that’s not what I meant. I meant a life. A job. I’m not going to complain about minimum wage since I get twenty-five cents an hour making car plates in this place, but do you see what I’m trying to say? Who would hire me? Who could possible want me? I have  _nothing_  out there, Kyungsoo.”  
  
“You killed a man by accident,” Kyungsoo hisses. “He was your best friend. It was an accident. You didn’t meant to. You’re not a bad person. It’s going to work out.”  
  
“Really? Remind me again why you’re not busting your ass with that fancy college degree of yours,” Seungsoo argues, and a red-hot iron strikes Kyungsoo at his navel. “And that was only because your Asian brother got himself into some deep shit behind the steering wheel. What? Are you going to make me believe that what you’re doing right now is you following your dreams? You’re a fucking boring person, Kyungsoo, and you want an equally boring but stable job to come along with that personality. You can’t tell me I’m wrong, because I’m not.”  
  
Kyungsoo tries to regain his calmness, but his hands are shaking too much. They don’t have that much time left to talk. “Hyung, you’re not wrong,” he says. “But this isn’t about me. Let’s think about getting you out first, okay? We’ll think about the rest later.”  
  
“And let me leech off of you for the next few years? No, I’m not going to burden you. I’m the hyung here.” Seungsoo gives him a dry look, and Kyungsoo blanches at this, because the words sound so familiar. “Or at least, I won’t burden you for another three years. This is just me stalling things.”  
  
“It’ll be harder for us to get through by then,” Kyungsoo reasons. “Higher taxes and all.”  
  
“My pride is much important than skyrocketing taxes,” Seungsoo replies solemnly. “As a Do, you know how much that counts.”  
  
Kyungsoo pauses, holding back a shudder, and when he’s about to say something, the buzzer has rung, and Seungsoo is already being escorted back inside.  
  
“I’ll see you again,” Kyungsoo sees his brother mouth through the glass, but Kyungsoo thinks he’s heard the sound of Seungsoo’s voice quite clearly, like he’s still sitting across from his seat.

 

  
****

  
  
  
On Saturday night, Kyungsoo ends up in a bar, the very place where his college roommate Yixing works. It’s not pretentiously rowdy like most of the bars in LES, but it always gets suffocating on weekends. For the fifth time that night, he refuses a smiling girl’s offer for a dance. Yixing then gets him a scotch and hoots when Kyungsoo gulps it all down in a single swipe.  
  
“Wow, I definitely forgot how much you like drinking.” Yixing fills another shot. “You’re a better drunk than Baekhyun, though. You blab only when you’re spoken to. Baekhyun blabs all the time. It’s so noisy.”  
  
“He’s like that all the time. What’s the difference with the regular Baekhyun?” Kyungsoo mumbles and drinks again. The golden liquid is smooth in his throat.   
  
Yixing chuckles as he slides him a tissue. “For starters, he pees on the bed. Especially my bed. He liked you so he kept yours relatively urine-free.”  
  
Kyungsoo snorts. Everyone is so loud today that he can’t hear himself think through the noise, which is good. “He’s just scared of me, like most people are.” He asks for another shot.   
  
Yixing tentatively fills again. “I’m not scared of you.”   
  
Kyungsoo stares at him.   
  
Yixing laughs, caught in a white lie. “Okay. I’m not scared of you most of the time.”  
  
“Right. Sure.”   
  
“You know, some people have remarkably thick skin, and once they get past all those misanthropic glares you give, they’d love nothing more than to cuddle with you and pepper you with kisses because you’re so cute and huggable.”  
  
“They’re just dumb.” Kyungsoo can think of one person who’s the dumbest of all, and surprisingly, it’s not Baekhyun or Chanyeol. “And I’m not cute, and I hate cuddling. Quit making me sound like a plushie or something.”  
  
“You are a plushie, Kyungsoo. Not a regular plushie, but you’re a soft-hearted, warm, cute little plushie with retractable spikes.”  
  
Kyungsoo groans. “Would you please stop?” he whines. Yixing is definitely not helping. The guy must be in one of those moods where he randomly blurts sentences and thinks he’s cheering Kyungsoo up, but ends up doing the exact opposite. “I need a break from all the strange things going on in my life.”  
  
Yixing looks like he’s enjoying his bartending position way too much. His eyes are dancing with mirth. “And by that you mean your roommate?”  
  
Kyungsoo nods, and then freezes. “I haven’t told you that before, have I?”  
  
“You’re the talk of the town these days,” Yixing says. He pours a cup of gin and slides it to a girl with a shock of pink hair. He winks at her and she blushes perceptibly. “Sunyoung-ssi was especially excited when she told me. Don’t tell her that I ratted her out, will you?”  
  
“S’okay.” Kyungsoo massages the bridge of his nose. “And yeah.” Another sigh. “It’s about him.”  
  
“I don’t think that it’s a problem, you know. Maybe you should take this as an opportunity to figure things out,” Yixing says. “From what Sunyoung-ssi told me, Jongin seems pretty adorable.”  
  
“Jongin’s an idiot. I’m an idiot. We’re both idiots.”  
  
“And you’ll both live happily ever after,” Yixing sings.   
  
Kyungsoo shakes his head. “We’re not exactly living together right now. I fucking chased him out of his own apartment.” He laughs and his voice hitches, like he’s just swallowed a shoe by accident. This whole situation sucks. Feelings suck. He wants to drown in his scotch and his misery.  
  
“You make it sound so complicated,” Yixing comments again. “I know my opinion won’t matter at all, but I don’t think it’s complicated. It’s just…” He scratches his chin, leaving a tiny red mark on the small patch of skin. “I’m sorry. My command of the Korean language is still not good.”  
  
“Don’t worry. I still won’t understand anything you say, anyway.”  
  
Yixing’s answering smile is serene. “I’ll explain it in another way, then, just for my favorite dongsaeng.”  
  
Kyungsoo chuckles freely, already knowing what’s coming full steam ahead.   
  
“You know that cool, fuzzy feeling you get when you’re drunk and all, and your vision gets blurry and shitty and you feel light like you’re soaring high?” Yixing begins, making huge, wild gestures with his hands. “That fuzzy white thing you see is like, you know, a person’s aura. Your aura.”  
  
“Okay,” Kyungsoo says indulgently. “What does my aura have to do with anything?”   
  
“When you’re drunk, your aura’s basically looking for another aura to pair itself with. That’s why it’s not cool to drink when you’re alone, because your aura would be looking for someone else’s aura, and they’d unite to form a wonderful, spiritual experience.”  
  
Kyungsoo laughs again. He lifts his head up, which is a bad idea. He’s suddenly seeing four Yixings. He then recovers by saying, “Now you’re just making an incorporeal justification for one-night stands, hyung.”  
  
“I’m not, I’m not!” Yixing defends. “I’m just saying that your auras have touched, Kyungsoo, and in spirit-speak, it’s a big fucking deal.”  
  
“So what if our auras have touched? It’s not like anything changed, right?”  
  
“Well apparently, something did,” Yixing says. “If nothing really happened, Jongin wouldn’t be camping out in his friend’s house, right?”   
  
Kyungsoo clutches tightly at the front pocket of his parka.  
  
Yixing continues with an apologetic smile, “And you definitely wouldn’t be out here getting drunk and being miserable and absolutely refusing everyone else’s auras to latch onto yours.”  
  
Kyungsoo throws his head back, running a hand through his tousled hair to calm himself. “Thanks, hyung. That really cheered me up.”  
  
“You’re welcome!” Yixing says before making a lopsided grin, totally missing the sarcasm by a mile. “You should ask him to drink with you again. You two seem to talk about the important stuff only when there’s a lot of alcohol involved.”  
  
“Not everything is solved by sobriety, apparently,” Kyungsoo agrees. “But what am I supposed to say? ‘Hey, Jongin-ah, you’re a really great person but you’re also very attractive and very male, so it would really be good for both of us if you’d stop being so nice to me so I won’t feel anything unnecessary towards you?’”  
  
Yixing laughs. “See? That wasn’t so hard. Just tell him that when he comes home.”  
  
“I can’t!” Kyungsoo says. He’s so drunk that his voice is reentering its pre-pubescent stage. “It’s like I’m admitting that I like him already.”  
  
Yixing flicks his gaze towards him. “I’m confused, and your sentence structure was at TOPIK Level 2. I thought you liked Jongin, Kyungsoo-yah.”  
  
“No. I mean, yes but… no. Ugh, this is not about the auras, hyung.” Kyungsoo slams his forehead on the counter. “This is about –” He swallows. He hates saying it out loud. “ _Feelings_ , hyung. Actual human emotions. I can’t have that. I’m already having a hard time repaying all the things I can’t afford.”  
  
“Love isn’t that expensive, you know,” Yixing says. “And Jongin doesn’t seem like the type that would want somebody to buy his.”  
  
“It’s not love, hyung,” Kyungsoo says. This strange, perplexing thing he’s having with Jongin is nothing like love. He can’t let it be love.  
  
“But you care about the kid,” Yixing says, softer. “Enough for you to want to make living with him as comfortable as possible.”  
  
“Well, yeah. But —”  
  
“I’m really failing to see why this is so complicated. Jongin likes you too, and you know it.”  
  
“That’s not true,” Kyungsoo says faintly.  
  
Yixing sighs at him. “You’re so pigheaded,” the older man gripes. “You’re not giving yourself and Jongin a chance.”  
  
_There are no chances_ , Kyungsoo thinks despondently, walking out of the bar and dragging his bike along the pavement after calling it a night.   
  
The lights litter the streets as he courses through St. Mark’s, one of the busiest places in East Village, and the struggle to keep himself and his bike upright worsens when he enters the rows of tourist traps and night bars. He meanders through the crowd and passes by The Holiday Cocktail Lounge, a little thrummed by the music coming from the inside. Baekhyun took him there once, just because Frank Sinatra had once graced the ancient bar stools.  
  
Kyungsoo crosses the intersection at 1st Avenue when the cars are at a full stop – but a rust-orange Cadillac that decides to ignore the red light. The headlamps blind Kyungsoo as soon as the screeching honk of the raving vehicle blasts into his dulled senses. He jumps away just in time. Some of the bystanders yelp at him in shock, and three men rush immediately to his aid.  
  
“You okay, man?” one of them says.   
  
Kyungsoo pulls back a little, his nose wrinkling. He’s well aware of how much he reeks of alcohol.   
  
“Holy shit, you could’ve been flattened,” another says.  
  
“I’m fine.” Kyungsoo stands, keeping his knees together, and repeats himself in English. “I’m fine.” His right cheek throbs, feeling raw, and his hands are scraped from taking the brunt of his dive towards safety.  
  
His eyes flicker back to the street. There, in the middle of the avenue, is his bike. It’s almost unrecognizable in its pretzel-like wreckage. Kyungsoo’s eyes sting along with his wounds.  
  
Kyungsoo balls his fists. Kindness sure came to collect early this year.  
  
A woman wearing a bright petticoat and a maroon lipstick that doesn’t suit her at all says, “Should I call for an ambulance? Did you break something?”  
  
“No, I’m fine. Thank you.”   
  
“Are you sure —”  
  
“I’m okay. Please, don’t call for anyone.” For the first time in a long while, Kyungsoo bows. He wordlessly steps away from the scene. Two others offer him a ride home, but Kyungsoo resolutely ignores them until they fall back and realize that there’s no use arguing with a gloomy, tipsy person.  
  
Kyungsoo limps all the way back to his building, up to his apartment floor. It takes him a while to get his keys from his pocket since his palms are slick with sweat and blood. When he does, he plunges the aluminum into the keyhole only to find that the door’s already unlocked.  
  
The lights are on. Kyungsoo’s heart pounds so fast against his ribs that he misses turning the knob twice before he gets the door to swing open.  
  
Jongin is waiting for him, sitting cross-legged on the sofa. There’s an empty cup of mint chocolate flavored ice cream and tiny boxes of Chinese take-out on the table. He’s shirtless again.   
  
Kyungsoo can’t believe this. He laughs, and he sounds like he’s finally lost it. “Why aren’t you wearing a shirt?” he chides. “It’s cold.”  
  
“Not exactly,” Jongin mumbles, nibbling on his upper lip. His eyes widen at the state of Kyungsoo’s face and hands. He stands up, lightning fast, and the pillow resting on his navel lands ungracefully on the carpet. “Hyung! Are you — are you bleeding?”  
  
“Yeah.” Kyungsoo chuckles again. His chest feels like it’s going to burst. “You have a medicine kit with you, right?”  
  
“Yes, hyung.” Jongin hesitates, and then races to the bathroom.  
  
Kyungsoo slowly sits on the sofa, careful not to let his hands graze the leather. His head feels like it’s getting thwacked continuously by a baseball bat. It’s so hilarious that it’s sickening, to feel extremely relieved and happy and nervous all at once. He’s disgusting and filthy and squirting blood all over Jongin’s living room, and if Jongin hasn’t forgiven him yet, he certainly won’t now.  
  
Jongin is back with the kit and a shirt on. He takes the seat right next to Kyungsoo on the sofa. Kyungsoo busies himself with the antiseptic, but his fingers keep on slipping again.   
  
Jongin opens the lid for him. “You’re drunk,” he says, whimpers when Kyungsoo hisses loudly when the disinfectant stings against the pink flesh. “You’re so, so drunk, Kyungsoo hyung.”  
  
“I’m fine,” Kyungsoo repeats for the third time. The exhaustion is starting to catch up as he tends to his wounds. “With the millions of bars here in the neighborhood, you can never be drinking too much.”  
  
Kyungsoo rips the packaging of gauze with his teeth, and Jongin holds his right hand for him as he places the mesh on top of his palm. He curses once more at the prick of pain as he wraps the adhesive around it.  
  
Jongin is trying his best not to touch him as much as he can, only holding Kyungsoo with his fingertips as he gently brushes off the lint sticking to his clothes. He watches closely as Kyungsoo nurses the wound on his cheek with a dab of wet cotton, his eyes tightening every time Kyungsoo cringes in discomfort. “Did you get into a fight?”  
  
“No.” Kyungsoo taps his foot anxiously in response to the ebbing adrenaline in his system. He collects the used cotton and bandages and hauls them all to the trash bin. If only he had enough strength to lie so that Jongin would stop wearing that frown on his face. “I almost got ran over by a car on my way home. I wasn’t hurt. Not by much.”  
  
Jongin’s jaw locks. “There was that truck too, that first time we went out for a drink,” he says quite angrily. “Are you hoping to get yourself killed on the streets one day?”  
  
Kyungsoo thinks about it. “That would make a great scene, you know. White and grey matter splattering everywhere. Bloody and bold and graphic—”  
  
“Hyung!”  
  
Kyungsoo chokes out a laugh even if he knows it’s a terrible joke, and that Jongin’s horrified expression is the most heartbreaking thing he’s ever seen yet. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” he says, patting Jongin on the shoulder, before giving him a small, meaningful smile of his own. “A death like that would’ve been too quick. I’m such a horrid person, and it wouldn’t be much of a punishment after everything I’ve done, right?”  
  
Jongin turns his head down. “You haven’t done anything wrong,” he mumbles, and then leans in to encase Kyungsoo in his arms in the tightest bear hug known to man. Kyungsoo’s face gets smashed first on Jongin’s chest, before he wiggles out a little from his hold and dumps his nose on Jongin’s collarbone instead. Jongin smells earthy with a hint of his favorite deodorant and soap, and his skin is hot but not uncomfortable. It’s a bit embarrassing how Kyungsoo’s heart won’t stop beating so fucking fast, and he can think of no excuse for this this time, no witty one-liners or a smooth way out.  
  
Now that the sudden burst of energy from the accident is gone, Kyungsoo arms go limp like a rag doll and his vision starts to fog again. He recalls all the things Yixing said earlier about auras, and he’s torn between laughing and crying.  
  
“I think I get what you mean,” Kyungsoo whispers. “Unit 4 is really too big for one person.”  
  
Jongin’s throat bobs against his shoulder. “Does that mean you’re going to stay?” His voice sounds strange.   
  
Kyungsoo nods. “Mhmm.” He props his chin on Jongin’s shoulder as his gaze lands on the starless night sky from the window. “I would like to hug you too,” Kyungsoo says as he holds out his shaking, bandaged palms in the air. “But my hands are a bit…”  
  
Jongin lets out a tiny laugh, and the boy hugs him even tighter, so much so that Kyungsoo believes he’s going to pass out.   
  
“It doesn’t matter if I’m the only one doing the hugging, hyung,” Jongin replies. This time, his voice comes out strained and wet and wobbly, and it makes Kyungsoo chew on his lip so hard until he tastes blood.   
  
Jongin is so gentle and kind, and Kyungsoo still longs.  
  
His muscles are marinated and his joints feel sore. Kyungsoo thinks he might fall asleep like this, shielded in Jongin’s warm arms. He’s going to have to stop resisting or he’ll black out.   
  
“I’m sorry,” Kyungsoo mumbles. “That you always end up taking care of me, even if I should be the one looking after you. I’m so sorry for burdening you like this. And what you said that night… I think I’m —” He swallows thickly, and the roof of his mouth feels coarse. “Jongin, I’m afraid that I might… because I might…”  
  
“I love you.”  
  
Kyungsoo feels like he’s being taken apart, brick by brick. “W-what?”  
  
“Hyung,” Jongin chokes, breathless and in pain. “I love you.”  
  
“What?” Kyungsoo’s fingers can’t curl itself on Jongin’s sleeve no matter how much he tries, and it hurts. “What are you saying?”  
  
“I know you’re going through a lot, and I know that you don’t want to complicate things. But I love you, Kyungsoo.” Jongin sniffles. “I really don’t care anymore. Just as long as you know,” he says faintly, and presses his lips to Kyungsoo’s hair. “I love you, Kyungsoo. I love you.”  
  
The fist around Kyungsoo’s heart clenches and unclenches, squeezing out everything until it leaves him empty. “Is that really what you feel?” he says quietly, desperately. “Jongin, is that what you truly feel?”  
  
Jongin chuckles deeply, and moves his lips to press a soft kiss on Kyungsoo’s damp forehead. “Yes.” Jongin squeezes his forearm with a small smile. “And don’t tell me that you never knew. I know you do.”   
  
Kyungsoo trembles. “Jongin, you c-can’t.” The ends of his fingers are pulsing with blood. “You can’t. Don’t. Please don’t.”  
  
“I know it’s… one-sided,” Jongin says. “You don’t have to love me back.”  
  
_One-sided._  The word rings through Kyungsoo’s head with a metal clang. “You don’t know what you’re saying.” His insides tangle in a mess. “You have no idea…”  
  
Jongin’s lips quiver as he looks away. “All I want from you is to acknowledge what I feel.” He rubs his cheek repeatedly. “Don’t — don’t ignore them, hyung. Don’t ignore me.”  
  
Kyungsoo can’t speak anymore. He’s too tired right now, and he can’t find the right words.  
  
Another rough smile and another soft peck on the forehead later, and Jongin is gone, quietly taking the medicine kit with him to his room.

****

  
  
  
Everything turns back to normal. Nothing much has changed.  
  
They start seeing each other a lot even outside of their apartment building, now that Jongin’s midterms are over and Kyungsoo only has the ending to fix. Sometimes, Jongin brings Zitao along to S.K. Deli for a chat, and Jongdae, who is quick to befriend anyone who can speak, has offered to close the store for five hours on Friday nights so they can all get drinks from the bar across from them.  
  
“Hey,” Jongin’s voice rings in the background of Kyungsoo’s daydream on Sunday. “Can I write here with you?”  
  
Kyungsoo clears out a stack of papers on the dining table and says, “Yeah, sure. Go ahead. Just don’t blast the indie music again like last time.”  
  
Jongin laughs and begins typing feverishly on his laptop as he chews on his enchilada. His smiles are a lot brighter than before, if it were possible.  
  
Baekhyun calls Kyungsoo a dimwit whenever he can.  
  
They arrive at FDR after a forty-minute long walk. The East River is glittering like white gems as they stroll along the greenway, the path narrowing with bikers and joggers as they head towards the park down Montgomery.   
  
“You’re out of excuses now,” Baekhyun says, his eyebrows thick and pulled together to form a grim expression. “He’s not a kid. He’s not exactly straight. He loves you, Kyungsoo, even if you’re a hard person to love. And more importantly, you love him. Maybe not as much as he does, but you love Jongin too.”  
  
It’s not love. It’s probably the strongest Kyungsoo has ever felt, but it can’t be love. Jongin can’t love Kyungsoo either. Like Baekhyun and Yixing, he’s probably confusing it with something else. It’s not supposed to be love, when Kyungsoo is a destruction waiting to happen.  
  
He doesn’t correct Baekhyun, though. He still can’t find a name to this stupid, horrible, frustrating, angering feeling in his chest. “Jongin deserves someone who will love him with everything he has,” Kyungsoo says bitterly. The wind slaps painfully on his face as in punishment, leaving his skin red and stingy. “I don’t have anything left.”  
  
Baekhyun snorts in disdain. “And you’re saying that you’ll wait patiently until the both of you fall out of love.” He rolls his eyes. “Since when have you become so stupid?”   
  
“I’ve always been stupid, Baekhyun,” Kyungsoo mumbles as he perches his chin on the steel divider. He watches a kid lick the melting ice cream dribbling from the end of her cone. “And this isn’t something I understand even in the slightest.”  
  
“What if Jongin falls out of love first?” Baekhyun wonders out loud. “What will you do?”  
  
Kyungsoo breathes in, and smell of cigarette butts pervades his senses. “That would be ideal.”  
  
“And?”  
  
Kyungsoo stops and thinks of Jongin’s lingering touches around his wrist. The way he promised that it would work out, as long as Kyungsoo allowed him to keep his feelings.  
  
_“As long as you let me love you, I’m fine,” Jongin had said to him one day, and Kyungsoo had hurriedly lifted his gaze elsewhere so he wouldn’t get to see the younger’s face._ _  
  
_Jongin laughed hollowly then, twirling his spoon. “I don’t think I can handle the final rejection just yet.”__  
  
Kyungsoo sighs deeply. “I’ll make it work,” he promises.

****

  
  
  
Kyungsoo comes home to a burnt Cordon Bleu and samgyupsal, and he prepares himself for the worst.  
  
“I’m going to assume that you bombed the UN Headquarters until you tell me what’s wrong,” he says during dinner. “Stop fidgeting so much, Jongin. You’re extremely dizzying to look at. And how many times do I have to tell you to stop scrunching your face?”   
  
Jongin lifts his head and looks at him plaintively. “My parents want to meet you. They said I should bring you home this Labor Day.” He nudges Kyungsoo under the table with his foot when the elder doesn’t speak. “Hyung, aren’t you going to say anything?”  
  
Kyungsoo tries for a light smile. “You told your parents about me?”  
  
Jongin colors in an instant. He frowns. “Of course I did. Do you want to go?”  
  
“I was thinking of getting a new bike that day, but sure.” Kyungsoo shrugs. “Yeah. I’ll come. That is if you want me to…?”  
  
Jongin settles for nothing less than a dazzling grin. “If you promise not to laugh at my baby pictures all over the house, I’ll be more than happy,” he says. “Mother always makes me eat too much jeotgal. You’ll be the perfect distraction.”  
  
“How flattering,” Kyungsoo says, and Jongin laughs and squeezes his hand in silent gratitude.

****

  
  
  
Jongin’s mother opens the door for them. She bows and smiles just as beautifully as her son does, and Kyungsoo, dazed and tongue-tied, gives her a ninety-degree bow and a raspy apology for intruding in return.  
  
“Welcome, Kyungsoo-ssi. I’m so happy that you accepted our invite. Jongin has told us you are a filmmaker, and you must be terribly busy.” Another wide, beautiful smile.  “Thank you so much for coming.”  
  
“I’m really not that busy,” Kyungsoo responds in a tiny voice, and he hears Jongin’s ghost of a laugh behind him as they course through the hallway.  
  
Kyungsoo feels himself shrink as Jongin’s mother show him around the house. He should’ve known that Jongin had been more than extremely humble about his background. The furniture is nothing but immaculate, and the floor is so shiny that Kyungsoo worries his socked feet will leave nasty imprints with each step.  
  
The grandest thing about the house, definitely, is the huge portrait of the Kim family at the center of the living room. Jongin was probably fourteen or fifteen when the artist sketched him, with the slight slant in his eyes and the plumpness of his young cheeks.  
  
“He’s even cuter when he was five if you can believe it,” Mrs. Kim whispers conspiratorially, and Jongin groans in despair.  
  
After going through five of the eleven Jongin baby albums, the eldest sister calls them for a traditional Korean lunch. Kyungsoo gets a taste of home when he takes a small slurp of the spicy naengmyeon broth.  
  
“So, Kyungsoo-ssi,” Mr. Kim says in a gravelly voice. “Jongin told us you were in the film business?”   
  
Kyungsoo refrains from twiddling his thumbs out in the open. “Not really. I-I just make films for a living. I’m not in the business or anything like that sort of stuff.”   
  
“He’s running his whole gig independently,” Jongin says as he takes the soybeans from his meal one by one with his chopsticks. “I already told you that on the phone, didn’t I?”  
  
“I forgot,” the man says, and Kyungsoo stops a shudder from running through his spine at the father’s piercing gaze. “It’s an interesting career choice, I have to say.”  
  
“Much like Jonginnie’s,” the younger sister intones meaningfully. With her neatly styled hair, she does look like that well-rigged businesswoman Jongin had described her as.  
  
The look Jongin sends her isn’t a friendly one, and she laughs. “Don’t be such a spoilsport.” She ruffles his hair. “We know how much you love what you do, even if it’s not exactly the most lucrative thing out there.”  
  
“Yeah, whatever,” Jongin grumbles. Kyungsoo subtly moves his hand over the younger boy’s thigh in a comforting gesture. Jongin doesn’t turn to look at him, but he wraps his fingers around Kyungsoo’s palm and squeezes it.  
  
“How  _is_  school, Jongin?” the eldest sister joins. “Mother’s already handing out tickets to our neighbors for your much awaited graduation day.”  
  
Jongin flushes. “I still haven’t finished my story for the journal. That is, if it ever gets published.”  
  
“Why aren’t you sure?” Mr. Kim says. “I though there wasn’t going to be any doubt that you’d graduate this year.”  
  
“I’m trying,” Jongin whispers miserably. “I’m trying really hard, but there are a lot of kids out there who are really talented. It’s hard coming up with something that will wow the panelist who’s probably read everything there is to read.”  
  
“That’s why we advised you against it in the first place,” Jongin’s mother answers resignedly, before giving him a determined look. “But don’t give up, alright? You’ve already come this far. We believe that you can do it, Jongin-ah.”  
  
And Kyungsoo definitely understands now why Jongin’s face always breaks into a pot-full of worry at the slightest mention of his journal entry. Expectations are deeply rooted at the core of the Kims, just as much as in every other family. It’s not necessarily bad, though, since Jongin’s family seems really genuine on wanting to support him.   
  
“What does your family do, Kyungsoo-ssi?” Jongin’s sister asks, completely oblivious to the effect her question has on Kyungsoo’s stomach.  
  
He’s been expecting this, but he wasn’t at all prepared for it to be asked so soon. He made a script, but Kyungsoo is not an actor and he’s never acted in his own films, and he’s already forgotten what he’s supposed to say at this point.  
  
“They’re not… I mean…” Kyungsoo gulps. He doesn’t know what he means. Jongin has grown rigid under his palm, and he’s all alone for now. He puts his chopsticks down gently. “My mom died when I was a third year in college, and my dad died last year.”  
  
The room is quiet for a while. It’s an awful kind of quiet, the one that Kyungsoo is used to, but still succeeds in making his insides churn unpleasantly.  
  
“Do you have any siblings then?” Mrs. Kim continues, and before Jongin can jump in, Kyungsoo places himself in line of fire.  
  
“I do,” Kyungsoo says quietly. “He’s in jail.”  
  
That probably did it. After the initial stone faces, there goes the perfect slip of apology streaming from Jongin’s mother’s lips. The perfect look of shock on the perfect faces of Jongin’s perfect family members.   
  
Perfect, perfect Kim Jongin.  
  
“Would you please excuse me for a moment?” Kyungsoo says as he stands. It’s the most American thing he’s done in a long while. Baekhyun would make fun of him for days on end, he’s sure.  
  
“Hyung—”  
  
“Make a left turn at the end of the hall. That’s where the bathroom is,” Mr. Kim cuts in. The look of sympathy and understanding on his face is something Kyungsoo equally appreciates and hates.  
  
Kyungsoo retreats to the bathroom and shuts the door close. He flicks the tap open and lets the tinkling water rush down and stream in between his fingers. It’s not doing anything to calm him down, even after a full minute has passed. He’s trembling terribly as he closes the tap.  
  
There’s a knock on the door. “Kyungsoo hyung?”  
  
“Y-yeah?”  
  
A pause, and then a soft, “Are you okay?”  
  
Kyungsoo releases a shaky breath as swiftly as he can. Drip. Drip. Drip. “No,” he says.  
  
“I’m sorry about earlier,” Jongin says through the door. “I should’ve warned them about asking you…They didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable. I’m sorry, hyung. I’m really sorry.”  
  
Kyungsoo flicks the tap open again, much harsher this time, because the tears won’t stop coming. His sniffling starts to echo so loud that Jongin’s family could probably hear him crying all the way from the dining room.  
  
Drip. Drip. Drip.  
  
Jongin knocks again, three times. “Hyung… Please let me in.”  
  
Drip.  
  
Drip. Drip. Drip.  
  
_Calm down_ , Kyungsoo tells himself as he slowly unlocks the door.  
  
Kyungsoo knows he must look like a mess, because Jongin’s lower jaw slacks at the sight and in half a second, he’s being pulled into a bone-crushing hug that makes even more tears spill from his eyes.   
  
“You have a really nice family,” Kyungsoo says hoarsely as his heart constricts. “I like them a lot.”  
  
“They like you a lot too,” Jongin mumbles. He hugs the older man even tighter, and the urge to slam his lips on Jongin’s is so strong that Kyungsoo has to grasp on the cotton of Jongin’s dress shirt as hard as he can until his knuckles turn white.  
  
They hold each other like that until Kyungsoo begins to show some semblance of composure. He’s mortified to find that he’s just ruined Jongin’s clothes with his snot, but Jongin doesn’t seem perturbed about it at all.  
  
“We can go home now if you want. They won’t mind.”  
  
Kyungsoo shakes his head. “They already think I’m emotionally unstable or something. What more damage can I do?”  
  
“If you want, you can always insult my sister’s cooking,” Jongin says rather hopefully, and it makes Kyungsoo laugh despite himself.   
  
The rest of the lunch continues without another hitch, and Kyungsoo feels slightly grateful that they all suddenly turn a blind eye at the red splotches in Kyungsoo’s owlish eyes and the awful state of Jongin’s shirt.   
  
“Kyungsoo-ssi, would you like to have more tea?”  
  
Kyungsoo smiles indulgently at what Jongin’s elder sibling has said. Jealousy is such a horrible feeling. Loneliness and love and bouts of insecurity are all tied for second place. His throat goes dry as he thinks back on the last time he cried, which was in second grade when he got lost in COEX back in Seoul, a long time ago. He’s probably just out of practice in dealing with the ambush of emotions.   
  
“Yes,” Kyungsoo says, almost wheezing, but tea would be nice. “Yes, please.”

****

  
  
  
“I’m amazed,” Jongin says when night has fallen. They’re at a shop called Recycle-A-Bicycle in Avenue C, which isn’t a far walk from the subway. “You completely killed them, hyung. My mother already wants to book you for Chuseok this year.”  
  
Kyungsoo snorts. “Stop lying, Jongin. You’re definitely not making me feel better.”  
  
“I’m not. I think she already wants me to marry you so she can have you under our roof.”  
  
“I doubt that you’ve told your parents that you’re into boys too.”  
  
Jongin gives him a sheepish grin. “Okay, maybe not yet,” he admits. “But they like you, especially Dad. He thinks you’re a true man – the _manliest_  man.”  
  
Kyungsoo raises a disbelieving eyebrow as they follow a different path. “I cried in your bathroom, Jongin. What the fuck are you talking about?”  
  
“After all you’ve been through, who wouldn’t think of you that way?” He puts an easy arm around Kyungsoo’s shoulders, and it’s fascinating how he’s absolutely grown resistant to the waves of animosity Kyungsoo sends him. “Why can’t you just accept that people can like you, hyung? And they do. They do like you. You’re extremely likeable.”  
  
“It’s not as easy as you make it sound.”  
  
“Right.” Jongin sighs. “Because you won’t accept love even if it’s shoved down your throat. You’d spit it right out.”  
  
“Not entirely true,” Kyungsoo says after a while. He catches Jongin’s eye, and hopes that the younger gets the not-so subliminal message he’s trying to send.  
  
Jongin’s cheeks suddenly turn into very ripe tomatoes, which is good.   
  
They stop at a bench nearby, to take a break from all the walking. Kyungsoo wishes that he could just love a person without feeling all the complicated stuff that comes with it. “You know, Jongin, if you weren’t such a nice person, I’d totally date you.”  
  
The younger man wasn’t expecting that, apparently. “O-okay,” Jongin stammers. “Do you want me to be mean to you so we can date?”  
  
“No. No, not really.” Kyungsoo looks up. There’re only a few stars up tonight. Perhaps they’d get to see more if it weren’t for the street lights. “I don’t want you to change. Not for anyone, and especially not for me.”  
  
“I don’t get it.” He sounds upset.  
  
Kyungsoo stills his breathing. “Jongin-ah, do you know how lucky you are?”  
  
Jongin’s eyebrows knit together in confusion. “I think I’m pretty okay, yeah. And I’m thankful. But what does that have to do with —”  
  
“Your monthly allowance could probably pay off my parents’ mortgage,” Kyungsoo says in a hushed tone. “You live in a nice home, your family is still together, and you have loads of friends who care about you. And your dreams aren’t that so far away from your grasp, when you think about it. You’re so nice, Jongin, and smart and funny and talented and handsome and —” He stops there, thinking that he’s probably said too much. Kyungsoo’s not going to bawl again like a baby, even if his chest hurts and there are thousands of warning signs blinking in red against his eyes. “You annoy me so much, Kim Jongin. So much.”  
  
Jongin has fallen silent beside him, eyes unsteady in the cold, cold shock.   
  
Kyungsoo looks over to him and takes a deep breath. “Hey,” he prods. “Why aren’t you saying anything?” His words were cruel, and he’d prefer it if Jongin would hurl something at him rather than being so quiet.  
  
Jongin blinks and, slowly, he moves his fingers around Kyungsoo’s hand. The injuries from the car accident are long gone, but the skin on Kyungsoo’s palm burns quite unnaturally as Jongin intertwines his long fingers with his stubby ones.   
  
A shy tug, and Kyungsoo’s arm is suddenly leaning against Jongin’s, the sleeves of their thick coats creasing at the contact.  
  
Jongin is now holding Kyungsoo’s hand with both of his. “Should I tell you all the things that I find wonderful about you, or should I tell you horrible things about me instead?”  
  
Kyungsoo wants to say something else, but it comes out as, “What could possibly be wrong with you?”  
  
“There’s plenty,” Jongin mumbles softly. “For starters, if you actually still like Baekhyun hyung, I don’t think I could even stand being in the same room with him.”  
  
“That’s petty. I couldn’t stand being in the same room with him either. He’s infuriating sometimes.”  
  
“Okay. What if I told you that I wanted to punch him that one time he was so touchy with you when we went out for drinks?” Jongin muses out loud. “And that I almost snapped at Jongdae hyung to back off when he did the same thing last week? And it’s stupid and uncalled for because I have no right. You’re not even mine.”  
  
Kyungsoo blushes. “That is a bit extreme,” he concedes, his heart pounding triple-time.  
  
“I’m selfish and possessive and annoying, and I tend to get whiney at people,” Jongin says, gazing rather intensely at his crookedly-tied shoelaces. “I get bossy during dance rehearsals even though if I’m not actually in charge, and I think my team secretly despises me for it.”  
  
“Jongin—”  
  
“I have dark skin,” Jongin says with a pained laugh. “Some American kids thought I tanned myself on purpose to fit in.”  
  
Kyungsoo tightens his hold on Jongin’s hand. “Hey, sshhh. It’s okay. That’s not really a flaw…” He pauses briefly. “Look, I just wanted to tell you what I think of you. I was long overdue for an explanation.”  
  
“I’m not perfect,” Jongin whispers, and Kyungsoo flinches a little. “I try to be, but I’m not.”  
  
“I know. I’m growing to realize that as each day goes by.” Kyungsoo grins stiffly. “It’s just… I don’t have anything to give you that you don’t already have.”  
  
“I told you already. I don’t need anything in return.”  
  
Kyungsoo pops his lips. “But that’s stupid. I can’t always be on the receiving end.”  
  
“Who said you are? You’re being pretty obvious that you care about me,” Jongin says. “You’re always jumping at every opportunity to make me happy. That’s why I don’t get why you don’t want me to be your boyfriend.” His face turns a bright red again. “Or — uhh, you know. Before tonight, I didn’t know that you had other feelings towards me.”  
  
“I’m just saying, Jongin. You don’t have to go through this road with me. You’ll probably age ten years faster.”  
  
“I know you’re going to tease me again for being sappy.” Jongin laughs. “But you know, Kyungsoo hyung, if it isn’t too much of a burden, I’d like to have your heart. Or maybe just a chunk of it, as long as it’s yours. That’s something you can give that I don’t already have, right?”  
  
Kyungsoo’s stomach drops, just as his heart squeezes in response to Jongin’s words.  
  
“You can add ‘greedy’ to my list of flaws now. What can I say?” Jongin squares his shoulders, like he’s bracing for something. He then leans in and kisses Kyungsoo lightly on the cheek, before giving him a tender smile.  
  
“How can you be so sure,” Kyungsoo says. “That what you’re feeling towards me is love?” Perhaps it’s something else, something that Jongin will easily outgrow. It wouldn’t be that surprising. Kyungsoo has seen it happen to people many times.  
  
“You know it as soon as you feel it,” Jongin answers, quite sadly. “You probably haven’t felt it before, so I guess you wouldn’t really know.”  
  
Kyungsoo blushes again as the air turns charged and heated. “My heart isn’t that good.” And it’s true, because there’s only a small piece of it left after being broken so many times before. Kyungsoo doesn’t think that it’d be a fair trade for Jongin’s big and warm heart.  
  
“As long as it’s yours,” Jongin repeats to the stars. “I’m serious, hyung. I did say that I’d keep on loving you even if you don’t love me in return, but it’d be really, really,  _really_  great if you’d love me back.”  
  
Kyungsoo looks at their entwined hands. They fit together really nicely — perfectly, but if there’s anything that he’s learned tonight, it’s that love can never be perfect.  
  
“Hey, it’s getting rather late,” Jongin says hastily. He rises and hauls Kyungsoo up his feet before letting go, and Kyungsoo’s fingers tingle at the loss. “I think they’re already finished with the papers. Let’s go get your bike.”  
  
Kyungsoo swallows back everything that he wants to say and the feelings that come along with it, bottling it up for another day. “Okay.”

****

  
  
  
The ending is finished.  
  
Kyungsoo prints the storyboard and the manuscript before filing them away in his bag. He slaps the lid of his laptop shut, and thinks about plans for the afternoon. He could probably take Jongin out to a nice café or an amusement park. But it’s Thursday, and Jongin’s still in class or at dance practice, so he calls Sunyoung and Baekhyun to meet him at the Sake Bar.  
  
Kyungsoo mounts his new bike and pedals towards 7th street, coughing as a teenager accidentally blows smoke on his face as he passes. He has to stop until the coughing passes. It only takes him around seven minutes before he’s back on his feet.  
  
He chains the bike on the rails as Taeyeon greets him by the entrance.  
  
“Isn’t it a bit too early for you to be drinking?” she calls with a smile.  
  
Kyungsoo grins at her wolfishly. “You’d better choose me as your best man for your wedding,” he replies with a wink, and laughs out loud when she flashes him a puzzled look.   
  
The coward hasn’t proposed yet. Baekhyun had been an absolute pain while picking out a ring at the jeweler’s. It’s probably going to take him a long time before he finally gets the guts to ask her out for a forever, and that means three more months of suffering that Kyungsoo can exploit.  
  
Sunyoung and Baekhyun are sitting together when they arrive, and both their eyes narrow into slits when Kyungsoo shows them a completed storyboard.  
  
“Are we going to read this in front of you?” Baekhyun says skeptically.   
  
Kyungsoo rolls his eyes in amusement. “Even wondered why I hadn’t bought a  _gimlet_?” He stands. “I’m off. I just came to drop you that. It’s still a draft, so call me if there’s anything wrong with it. We’ll start shooting for the following scenes next week once it’s final.”  
  
Sunyoung brightens as she reads the first part. “This is going to end on a good note,” she says. “I can already feel it.”  
  
It does. Gelo calls himself and Mary out for believing more in whirlwind romances than in real love. Vince still ends up getting sick, but it’s not cancer, it’s nothing more than just a temporary impairment. And Mary, most of all, gets to sort out her feelings, and finally notices her bad habit of running away and dodging the prospects of a happy life with her own husband, now that Vince isn’t chasing her anymore. Mary stays put and takes Vince’s hand.   
  
Nobody dies, nobody ends up alone and lonely.  
  
Kyungsoo bids them goodbye and shuffles towards his bike again. 

****

  
  
  
“How long?” Jongin asks as Kyungsoo deposits a thick wad of cash into the machine. It eats the money up noisily.  
  
“About a year,” Kyungsoo says. They leave the bank and step out onto the busy streets. “Dad’s hospitalization bills ate up all the money for the house. It’s okay, though. It bought us some time. He still got to see Seungsoo before his court trial.”  
  
Jongin nods. “And Baekhyun hyung’s still mad at your brother.”  
  
“I think so. He never told me outright but…” Kyungsoo chuckles without humor. He recalls the heated argument they had that night at the park square, with Kyungsoo ending their relationship and Baekhyun laughing hysterically at the moonless sky. “Baekhyun’s an open book. His expressions are clear. I guess that’s what makes him a good actor.”  
  
They cross an intersection, and Jongin steps on a piece of gum. He curses under his breath and scrapes his sandal violently on the cement.  
  
“You know, besides your cheesy morning poems, you’ve never let me read your work,” Kyungsoo says as soon as they arrive at 6th. “I’m getting really curious as to what you’ve been writing these days.”  
  
Jongin’s smile is a happy one, almost puppyish. Kyungsoo itches to hold his hand. “I’m almost done,” Jongin says. “As soon as I finish and have it edited, you’ll be the first one to read it.”  
  
“It better be good. You’re holding me hostage for six months just to write that.”  
  
Jongin laughs. “I can’t promise anything, but I am hoping you’d like it. I’m writing it because of you, after all.”  
  
Kyungsoo trips on a crevice, and Jongin laughs even harder.   
  
They eat bibimbap and drink hot cocoa while watching another Joseon era series from KBS. Jongin makes snide comments about the man-skirts the actors have to wear while his mouth sprays rice all over the sofa, and Kyungsoo goes along quietly, all the while waiting for the unpleasant swishing in his gut to halt.  
  
They’re already on the third week of May. Kyungsoo has saved enough money to rent an apartment somewhere in Chelsea, where he can be near enough to look after Baekbeom’s kids and visit Seungsoo more than just once a month. Maybe he can finally take out that accounting degree from his drawer and pay off the mortgage for good this time.  
  
Kyungsoo’s stomach revolts at the turn of his thoughts, and he clutches his abdomen as he sighs.   
  
Jongin has already fallen asleep in the midst of an exciting battle between the two princes, his head planked on the armrest and his sides anchored by the cushions. One end of his lip is lilted with a smidgen of kochujang.  
  
With the pain in his gut intensifying, Kyungsoo lowers the volume until all the sword clashing isn’t heard anymore. He watches aimlessly and turns off the television as soon as it ends.  
  
He washes the empty bowls and heads to Jongin’s room. His fingers clutch to steal the fresh blanket on the bed when he notices the corkboard on Jongin’s desk. Kyungsoo hesitates, before running a hand over the piece of paper pinned on the left corner of the board. It looks like it had been torn off from one of Jongin’s homework notebooks.  
  
_He draws your smile like a heart_ , Zitao had said.  
  
“Idiot,” he mumbles. Doodle Kyungsoo stares back at him cheerfully with huge eyes and an equally huge grin, and real Kyungsoo’s heart leaps embarrassingly high and lodges itself on his throat. “What an idiot.”  
  
Kyungsoo retreats and waddles back to the living room. Jongin has moved from his former position, and has now taken off one of the cushions from his side and settled a strong arm around it. Kyungsoo throws the blanket over him gently before crouching down to get a good look on Jongin’s face.  
  
He’s about to wipe some leftover sauce on the corner of Jongin’s lips with his thumb when his eyes suddenly dart to the creases in between Jongin’s knitted eyebrows.  _Is the idiot having a bad dream?_ That would explain the crushing hold he has on the pillow.   
  
Kyungsoo smoothes out the tiny folds of skin until it relaxes, and then, unconsciously, his thumb moves to trace the small bud on the bridge of Jongin’s nose, down to the slope of his philtrum, and stops at the swell of Jongin’s upper lip. It’s soft and warm, just as Kyungsoo had imagined.  
  
Jongin’s mouth parts a little at the pressure, his breath hot against Kyungsoo’s finger. Ears ringing, Kyungsoo slowly outlines every curve of his lips before wiping the sticky kochujang.  
  
“Mrmmh.”   
  
Jongin’s eyelids flutter open. Kyungsoo panics.  
  
Jongin goes cross-eyed as he looks at him in confusion. “Hyung?” he asks breathlessly. His pupils dilate when he finally gauges the proximity of their faces, his delectably plush mouth parting again, and a strong pang of arousal hits Kyungsoo like a train.  
  
Kyungsoo blinks rapidly and hastily wipes the sauce on his jeans. “Sorry. I wasn’t… thinking. Umm.”   
  
Jongin watches him steadily, alert now, no doubt waiting for Kyungsoo to move away. Only Kyungsoo doesn’t – he’s not sure if it’s from the shock of being caught, or because of some invincible force tying him to where he is, or if it’s something different altogether. He stares at the small sheen of sweat on Jongin’s neck, at the cleft of his chin, at the darkness of his eyes. Jongin licks his lips, and Kyungsoo’s insides coil.  
  
Kyungsoo’s going to regret this later. He’s sure of it.  
  
Screw everything.  
  
Kyungsoo cups Jongin’s jaw with his hand, leaning in. He closes his eyes tightly, and lets the warm breath guide him to where he wants to be.  
  
Jongin’s lips lock with his, and Kyungsoo is amazed at how perfectly they fit. He’s even more surprised to find how easy it is for Jongin to quickly envelop his mouth with just a small tilt of his head, and how there’s suddenly a tongue licking at the dip of his lower lip, and how Jongin’s fingers quickly curl around the base of his neck to deepen the kiss.  
  
Jongin tastes a bit stale from sleep, but there’s also a hint of chocolate when Kyungsoo darts out his tongue to the roof of Jongin’s mouth. It makes him fist a clump of Jongin’s hair and tug on it. Jongin sucks again on his bottom lip in retaliation. Kyungsoo whimpers, and the younger man makes a satisfied moan in return.  
  
“This.” Jongin chuckles against Kyungsoo’s flushed cheek. “Is the greatest thing to wake up to.”  
  
Kyungsoo feels too winded and embarrassed to answer properly. “Jongin, I’m —”  
  
“I know.” He turns, watches Kyungsoo with half-lidded eyes. His mouth is delightfully puffy and red as he stretches it to form a smile. “I know, hyung. Just let me have this moment, alright? Don’t ruin it for me.”  
  
Kyungsoo bobs his head. “Okay.”  
  
Jongin grins, and then moves to claim Kyungsoo’s mouth again.   
  
Kissing Jongin is easy, almost natural, and if Kyungsoo wasn’t too busy holding his breath and keeping his pleasured moans down to an acceptable level, he would find it terrifying. Kyungsoo hasn’t kissed a lot of people, hasn’t liked most of the people he dated enough to kiss them. But with Jongin, a simple dip of the head and an audacious swipe of the tongue has Kyungsoo’s brain turning into putty as his body thrums with desire, leaving him no time to think.  
  
Jongin extricates himself and licks from Kyungsoo’s chin to the shell of his ear, leaving a naughty stripe of saliva on his jaw. Kyungsoo shudders, and Jongin is arching on the sofa as he heads south and buries his lips on Kyungsoo’s reddening neck.   
  
Kyungsoo groans, and only then realizes that he’s hoisted himself on top of Jongin’s thighs. Jongin makes a muffled harrumph when his back hits the pad of the armrest.   
  
“Sorry!” Kyungsoo’s voice hitches an octave too high for a grown man’s.   
  
Jongin laughs huskily and eats his neck again.  
  
The air in the living room is too hot, and Kyungsoo’s jeans are too tight, and Jongin’s mouth is too wet and close to the sensitive spot on his shoulder. Kyungsoo realigns their lips before he goes insane, and tries to ignore the pulsing in his lower region when Jongin’s crotch chafes the flat of his stomach.  
  
Kyungsoo’s phone rings.  
  
It’s in the back pocket of his jeans, too close to ignore. Jongin tenses underneath him and pulls away, his dark brown eyes clouded with lust and something else. Kyungsoo gulps.  
  
Jongin’s chuckle comes out strained, the veins in his neck protruding. “Aren’t you going to get that?” he says like a challenge.  
  
The circa 06 ringtone echoes in the room along with their rapid panting. Kyungsoo nods and gently, carefully, retracts himself. He bites his lip and stifles a gasp when his inner thigh brushes the prominent bulge in Jongin’s jeans. With much effort, he dips his hand into his pocket.  
  
He forgets to check the caller I.D. and croaks a “Hello” immediately.   
  
“Am I interrupting something? You kinda sound out of breath.”  
  
“B-Baekhyun?” Kyungsoo stutters as he skids down the foot of the couch. Jongin watches him, lips pursed thinly. “N-no. No, I’m uh… I’m fine. Why’d you call?”  
  
Baekhyun cackles meaningfully. “Yah. Has it been this long since you watched porn? You’re getting rusty.”  
  
“What? No!” If only  _that_  happened instead of— “Dammit, Baekhyun, stop harassing me! What happened?”  
  
“I finished your script!” Baekhyun responds. “Sunyoung kept on nagging me to finish it yesterday, and so I did.”  
  
“Are there any problems?”  
  
“No, no. There’s none. That’s actually why I called. I have no problems with it.”  
  
Kyungsoo lets out a shaky breath. “You called me up for that?” he says, feeling slightly miffed.  
  
“Well, yeah. It’s actually good. To be honest, I like this best out of all your screenplays,” Baekhyun’s voice turns hushed. “I… I just wanted to tell you that.”  
  
Kyungsoo takes a huge chunk out of his thumb nail. “Oh. Uhh, okay. Thanks for telling me.”  
  
“No problem.” The longest pause Kyungsoo’s ever had with Baekhyun on the line, and then, “Have you told Jongin yet?”  
  
“What?”  
  
“That you’re planning to move out by the end of May instead of July.”  
  
Kyungsoo whirls around, and finds that Jongin’s no longer on the couch. The loud trickling of water coming from the shower at the end of the hall. “No. I haven’t gotten around it yet.”  
  
“Okay. Well, have you confessed to him yet?”  
  
Kyungsoo’s ears turn pink. “Jesus, Baek, there’s nothing to tell. It’s not —”  
  
“Love?” Baekhyun’s voice abruptly clears, like he’s coming out from a room with poor reception just now. “Okay, sure. Do you just like him, then?”  
  
_Like._  That should be the case, if liking is the same as that quiet creak at the dip of Kyungsoo’s breastbone whenever he thinks of Jongin.   
  
“Or is it lust? Admiration? Envy?” Baekhyun says. “That old, fraying wallet of yours is about to explode from all those post-its you’ve been hoarding.”  
  
“So?”  
  
“Come on, Kyungsoo. Your heart is doing exactly the same,” Baekhyun says. “Hearts don’t explode, but maybe yours will if you move out when you haven’t even admitted it to yourself yet. Stop running away. You’re not going to break him.”  
  
Kyungsoo breathes shallowly through his nose. “You did,” he mumbles. “Break, I mean.”  
  
A pause. “Kyungsoo, I fucking swear.” Baekhyun laughs stiltedly. “If this is about Baekbeom again, I am seriously denouncing our friendship this instant.”  
  
“Your father stopped talking to you too, when he found out about us,” Kyungsoo answers meekly.  
  
Baekhyun snorts. “Stop gibbering shit about Dad. We never saw eye-to-eye, anyway,” the other man reasons. “You’re forgetting about Mom. Mom loves you. I inherited her taste.”  
  
“And Baekbeom —”  
  
“Baekbeom’s dead,” Baekhyun says, and Kyungsoo shudders despite himself. “Fine, we drank a lot on your birthday. We made a lot of mistakes. You wanted to go home. Your brother is also the worst driver in the world. But you need to fucking stop, Kyungsoo. Stop fueling that stupid, nonsense fear of yours. It’s different now. It’s different with Kim Jongin.”  
  
“It’s not,” Kyungsoo defends, balling his fists. “Everything is still the same. Nothing’s different.”  
  
“Bullshit. You never loved me as much as you love Jongin,” Baekhyun says. “There are a lot of differences with before and right now, Kyungsoo, but that’s the one that really matters.”  
  
There’s no comeback or well-thought retort to spear out of Kyungsoo’s lips. He used to be good at this, jousting Baekhyun out of his horse and winning verbal spars one after another. All that comes out is a waspy breath and a whispered, “I’m not supposed to love him.”  
  
Baekhyun grows quiet again. “You’re not supposed to feel a lot of things,” he says. The static makes it hard for Kyungsoo to hear him clearly. “But you still end up feeling them.”   
  
Kyungsoo coughs hoarsely. “I’m not running away. I’m just… dealing with it a bit differently.”  
  
“Kyungsoo, if you’re afraid that you’ll hurt Jongin by reciprocating his feelings, then you’ve already hurt him more times than you can count.”  
  
“What are you instigating —”  
  
The phone line goes dead.   
  
Kyungsoo stares at the window in disbelief, before he curses eloquently at his phone. It’s run out of juice. He slams it on the table, hard, kicking everything down that’s threatening to burst inside him.  
  
At that exact moment, Jongin comes out of the bathroom. His cheeks turn red upon meeting Kyungsoo’s eyes.  
  
Jongin averts his gaze and mumbles at the fluff of his slippers, “Umm, please don’t go in there yet, hyung.”  
  
“Huh? What are you talking —”   
  
Jongin makes a small, strangled noise.  
  
“Oh.” Kyungsoo finally gets it. “ _Oh._ ”  
  
Jongin glowers at him. He walks past Kyungsoo and hides back in his room, locking the door behind him tightly.  
  
And because Kyungsoo’s an asshole through and through, he checks, and the bathroom probably smells heavenly with the fresh layer of Lysol, but there’s something distinctive about that one other scent lingering in the air that it makes Kyungsoo’s whole body flame.   
  
Inappropriate thoughts plague his brain, thoughts like Jongin pleasuring himself in the shower, whispering Kyungsoo’s name as he comes, and it’s enough for Kyungsoo to unzip his jeans and do a little bit of touching of his own.  
  
He spurts his junk all over his hand, his shirt, his pants, and he thinks of Jongin and Baekhyun’s rants and all the things that Can Potentially Fuck-Up A Relationship as he mops up his mess and retreats to his bed, feeling confused and filthy and awful as ever.

****

  
  
  
Shooting commences in Harlem, an unknown piece of territory for Kyungsoo that he quickly grows to dislike as soon as he disembarks from the subway. The tip of the Manhattan borough looks almost exactly the same as Alphabet City, but the air is obtrusively hostile, and this melting pot thing is not exactly a good thing with people who are fighting so much for their identity. Baekhyun and Sehun had told him that it was worse before the gentrification, and Kyungsoo can’t imagine how terrible it is to live in such a place.  
  
“You’re only looking at the crime and unemployment rates,” Chanyeol informs him. “Once you get past that, it’s actually a swell place. Interesting people. Loads of culture. You’ll drown in it.”  
  
“Never been much of a fan of drowning,” Kyungsoo says flatly. His contacts sting and make his eyes water. He blinks fast.  
  
Chanyeol hums enigmatically. “So is that why we’re going to film the ending here? At the worst place on Earth that’s only a train ride away from Alphabet City?”  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“Filming in a place where hope doesn’t exactly ‘spring eternal’…” Chanyeol jabs his finger at the old man gripping hard on a cane as he walks with the other pedestrians that carelessly bump his shoulder. “And with a new ending like that – are you sending some kind of message? Or are you just pulling our legs after we complained to you about shooting all the scenes of the movie at home?”  
  
Kyungsoo turns to look at the sky, watching the clouds roll by. “My movies don’t have any messages,” he finally says. “It’s a blank parchment where the audience can write whatever they want.”  
  
“Maybe  _Equivoque_. Or  _The Careless Wind of Chinatown_. But not this one, Kyungsoo.” Chanyeol watches him with a somewhat serious stare. “This one seems a bit too alive for a torn-up, yellowing scroll.”  
  
“… Is it a bad thing?”  
  
Chanyeol purses his lips. “No. Of course not.”   
  
They pass the rowhouses down 125th. They’re supposed to meet Baekhyun and Sunyoung in Lazarus, with Junmyeon, Sehun and Yifan taking a car and bringing in the equipment. Kyungsoo spots the Apollo Theater from afar, the branches of little leaf linden trees awning over the glare of the red signage.   
  
Chanyeol doesn’t seem to mind the dark pillows of smoke the exhaust of an old Bentley sends his way. “I asked Sehunnie out yesterday. Like officially.”  
  
Kyungsoo clears his throat. “How — How did it go?”  
  
“Awful,” Chanyeol answers immediately with a happy gleam. “Sehun doesn’t want us to be together just yet. He said it’s ‘going against the law of nature’ or something. Whined like a bitch, too, about other things.”  
  
“And you seem perfectly fine with that.”  
  
“I saw his face, when he said it,” Chanyeol says cheerfully. He looks possessed. “Sehunnie likes me. He was  _dying_  to say yes to me, Kyungsoo. He wants me. He wants me too.”  
  
Kyungsoo pauses and then punches him on the arm. “You’re so full of yourself, Chanyeol.”  
  
“I am! That’s why I can tell if people like me, even if they don’t say it. It’s my most outstanding trait, in my opinion.”  
  
“Or your most annoying.”  
  
“Whatever, Director.” Chanyeol smirks. “Sehun makes a big deal out of the smallest things. I’ll make him budge someday.”  
  
“Yeah, good luck with that. He’s sort of like you.”  
  
“He is somewhat like me, but he’s –” Chanyeol’s smile grows softer. “Lighter. More innocent. I’m the kid who yanks his crush’s ponytail to get her attention. Sehunnie would whine at her and tell jokes to make her laugh instead.”  
  
“Makes sense. Your love hurts a lot,” Kyungsoo remarks. “You could learn a thing or two from Sehun.”  
  
Chanyeol laughs too loudly, catching everyone’s attention in the streets. “The best thing about liking a person is that you don’t have to say it,” he quips. “It’ll always, always show.”  
  
Kyungsoo adjusts his coat collar. “Right,” he mutters. 

 

 

****

  
  
  
The aluminum braces shake and rattle along with the bus. Kyungsoo peacefully sleeps through the whole ride and disembarks as soon as the quaking stops.  
  
A rough patch of asphalt glistens with something that smells vaguely of piss as Kyungsoo walks home. He bumps into a hooded stranger once, the impact harsh as his shoulder yelps at the jab of pain. Kyungsoo rolls his eyes when the teenager flips him off, and the rest of the trip goes on, uneventful.  
  
No one’s home when Kyungsoo arrives at the apartment. It’s already eight o’ clock, and Jongin should be home by now. There was a note posted on the fridge earlier this morning. It said:  
  
_Frown less and smile more ~_ _  
_For dumplings, should you crave_  
_Two cartons for us, and a piece_  
_of my heart for you :)__  
  
It’s a shitty poem, right there. But there’s no Jongin, and no cartons of Chinese take-out. The room hoots like an owl in its emptiness.   
  
He cooks dinner for two, slowly, letting the fish simmer until the soy sauce seeps through the white meat, and then dumps the tofu chopped into tiny, neat cubes. Kyungsoo sets up the table, slowly. He eats the meal alone, slowly. The hands of the clock tick away, slowly.  
  
Kyungsoo checks his phone. No calls. No texts.  
  
After cleaning up, Kyungsoo hangs the hand towel to dry, and leaves the cold apartment. Outside, the night air is a pleasant kind of warm; the one that foretells summer will be coming, perhaps sooner than usual.  
  
Kyungsoo sits on the stairs of the porch and waits.  
  
He checks his phone again when the stars reappear behind the clouds. It’s eleven o’ clock. The boisterous fighting on the second floor has long since started, and the pot of snowdrops on the window sill is filled with nothing but baked earth.  
  
“They’ve already wilted,” a voice says from behind him.   
  
Kyungsoo turns, and spots the landlady and her grandson coming out from the door.  
  
“They were a gift from my husband,” she says. “He’s dead now too. Took five years for the flowers to catch up.”  
  
Kyungsoo inches back to make way for them.   
  
The landlady must’ve sensed something wrong in the atmosphere because she continues, “He’ll be back, your roommate. No need to wait up for him here.”  
  
“The room upstairs is… stifling,” Kyungsoo says. He glances at his phone one more time. No texts.  
  
The old woman makes a knowing grunt in reply. She tugs her grandson’s hand to come along, and the bespectacled boy gives Kyungsoo a rushed and quiet, “Goodbye, sir”. It makes Kyungsoo smile a little. Cute kid.  
  
He almost falls asleep after, his cheek against the rails coated with rust, when his phone rings and vibrates in his hand.  
  
It’s Jongin.  
  
“Yes? Hello?” Kyungsoo says, rubbing an itchy eyelid. “Do you know what time it is? If you’re not staying here for the night you should’ve at least told me.”  
  
Nothing comes out of the receiver but the sound of stale breathing, until a broken chuckle erupts and mangles the creeping silence. “Hyung,” Jongin rasps. “Sorry. I fell asleep…”  
  
Kyungsoo’s intestines coil up as he falters. “J-Jongin, where are you right now?”  
  
“… Behind a dumpster,” Jongin whispers. He coughs mutedly, like he’s holding back a piece of himself that he can’t afford to lose. “I… I don’t know where –” A cough. “I am… I think I’m a little…” Another cough, a violent one this time.  
  
Kyungsoo stands and rushes to unchain his bike, one hand trembling as he fumbles over the brace. “What is it? Please tell me where you are, Jongin,” he says. “A landmark. Anything. Give me something — where the hell are you?”  
  
“Do you remember our second date?” Jongin croaks out. “We went to see art. Street art. The one with the boy… and the skulls.”  
  
In frustration, Kyungsoo kicks the brace that has blocked one of the spokes. It shatters, and Kyungsoo jumps on the bicycle and pedals away. “You’re in the Projects? A dumpster? I need you to be a little fucking specific — goddamit!” he curses as he almost tips over in his haste to evade a stray dog running in the middle of the sidewalk. “Do you see a street sign from there?”  
  
“‘ _Commercial Vehicles Only._ ’” Jongin sounds like he’s only one step away from falling asleep, and Kyungsoo relentlessly yells at him at the receiver.   
  
“Keep talking to me, okay? Don’t hang up,” Kyungsoo cries. He nearly misses ramming himself on a pole for the seventh time. He yells and screeches at the top of his lungs like he’s never done before, just for the street critters to move away from the path. Riding a bike one-handed sucks. “Wait a little more. I’ll be there soon, Jongin. I promise.”  
  
Jongin laughs, and it sounds wrong.   
  
Kyungsoo takes the shortcut by Tompkins Square Park. He squeezes his bicycle in between the mass of giggling teenagers as he surges through the path, scaring away some of the pigeons gathered around the statue on top of the small water fountain. Its stone roofing says _Temperance_  on one side.  
  
“I honestly thought you’d be coming home early today.” Kyungsoo gasps as he runs out of air. His eyes water at the feeling of his knees burning and the sound of it creaking at his vicious pedaling. “I waited.”  
  
“Sorry…” Jongin says, sounding more than just repentant about making Kyungsoo wait. “I ran… into a bit of… trouble…”  
  
Kyungsoo forces his way through the gates and comes out of East 10th. His heart squeezes unbearably tight when he hears Jongin murmur something else he can’t comprehend.  
  
“I’m almost there. I’m almost there, I’m almost there,” Kyungsoo chants, rallying against the cars. The night birds on the trees regard him with silent expectation as he passes. “I just passed Avenue B — hold on a bit longer, Jongin.”  
  
The younger man breathes another chuckle. “I’m not going anywhere. Stop — stop speeding… You might get into an accident again.”  
  
Kyungsoo doesn’t wait for the traffic light to turn green and recklessly pedals away. Luckily, there aren’t that many cars out tonight on the streets. “Third time’s the charm,” he remarks dryly. “I might get run over for good this time.”  
  
“Hyung… that isn’t funny.”  
  
Kyungsoo’s not laughing either. This whole situation isn’t funny at all. “You’re in Avenue C, right? Are you near this pharmacy?”  
  
“I remember something like that.”  
  
“Okay.” He turns and makes one last lap. “Give me a sec. I’m almost there,” Kyungsoo assures him, assures himself.  
  
Kyungsoo spots the green sign—Commercial Vehicles Only —hovering beside a hydrant glinting fiercely underneath a street light. He quickly dismounts and shoves the bike at the edge of the dark alley and runs to a stinking dumpster at the foot of an apartment building fire escape. His breath quickens as he spots a maroon sneaker on the pavement.  
  
Jongin is propped up against the metal casing, with strips of banana peels on his jeans and streaks of grease stick to the side of his arm. One end of his lip is swelling up, and the right side of his face is bruised and muddied. A nightmare of a gash runs across his forehead. The blood has already dried on the tip of his eyebrow, on the edge of his eyelids.  
  
“J-Jongin,” Kyungsoo breathes, heaving and sweaty. The light from Jongin’s phone dies out as his hand falls limps to his side. Kyungsoo can’t see his face clearly anymore in the dark.  
  
“They took my bag,” Jongin says quietly as a shaking Kyungsoo saunters towards him. “My laptop was in there… my notebooks… my draft…”  
  
“Are you seriously more worried about that?” Kyungsoo screeches. Drip. Drip.  
  
Jongin seems to think about it for a while. “At least they didn’t take my phone.” He holds out his hand and lights up the alley for them. Jongin’s wallpaper is still their selca around St. Mark’s Place. There’s a widening crack on the glass screen, but it’s still enough for Kyungsoo to see Jongin’s beaming face on the picture.  
  
Kyungsoo crouches down at Jongin’s side, his heart hammering miserably against his ribs. He doesn’t know what to do. He feels utterly powerless as he takes in the huge rip on Jongin’s shirt, the blood caked on his naked feet, the tired and defeated look on his face.  
  
“Hyung…” Jongin whispers  
  
Kyungsoo’s fingers tremble when he’s about to reach out and touch him, so he stops. He settles with leaning onto the dumpster, the exhaustion brimming to surface. Kyungsoo peers down at his phone. Tiny drops of salty water smear the screen in an instant. “I’m — I’m going to call an ambulance.”  
  
Jongin nods. His smile looks gnarled, like any sort of physical action is painful to him.  
  
Kyungsoo’s whole body gets assaulted with quiet tremors as soon as he’s done making his call. His shaking intensifies when Jongin puts a light hand on his knee.  
  
Drip.   
  
Drip drip drip.  
  
“You dumbass,” Kyungsoo snaps, blinking rapidly. His eyes are too wet to see properly. “You should’ve called for the ambulance first. Why do I always have to do these things for you?”  
  
Jongin smiles weakly again, breathing shallowly through his mouth, and the light on one side of his face makes him look like a ghost. Kyungsoo’s throat constricts. He wants to grab onto Jongin. Hold onto him tight. Keep him there.  
  
The big hollowness in his chest, the one Kyungsoo had felt since the start of the evening, fills up instantly as soon as Jongin’s bleeding fingers creep up to touch his cheeks.  
  
“W-what are you doing?” Kyungsoo says when Jongin doesn’t stop caressing his face.   
  
The younger’s lips curl up even more as his index finger dries away the wet outline under Kyungsoo’s eyelashes. “You look very ugly when you cry, hyung,” he answers, his voice wavering rather pitifully. Kyungsoo can’t muster any energy to glare at him, and instead he lets Jongin’s eyes navigate through the treacherous sea that is Kyungsoo’s thoughts.  
  
“Quit moving so much,” Kyungsoo quibbles, finally brushing away the other man’s fingers. “You’re hurt.”  
  
The bruise on Jongin’s mouth is turning into a hideous shade of blue-black. He doesn’t pay it any heed though, and laughs. “I’m alright,” Jongin says, and he takes hold of Kyungsoo’s hand with such force that Kyungsoo visibly winces. He continues on watching Kyungsoo with a steady gaze.   
  
Kyungsoo doesn’t know what Jongin’s seeing, but it’s fine. As long as Jongin’s got strength left in him, it’s fine.  
  
The wailing sound of the sirens arrives shortly, and Kyungsoo wants to scream and laugh and pollute the air with a couple of swearwords. He stands aside when the EMTs surround the alley, and watches as they frantically fish out the gurney from the back of the ambulance.  
  
Jongin gets hauled up in a matter of seconds. Kyungsoo follows the medics into the ambulance, and tries to block out the hurried mumbles all around him to focus on Jongin’s labored breathing.  
  
“We should contact his parents,” a medic says to Kyungsoo after a minute of making sure that all the tubes are sticking out from the right places, but Jongin groans loudly in protest.  
  
“It’ll only freak them out,” Jongin argues, and another medic places a gloved hand on his shoulder to restrain him from sitting up. Jongin still turns to Kyungsoo and says in Korean, “I don’t want that. Please don’t tell them.”  
  
“Jongin…” They go over a bump on the road, and Kyungsoo clutches onto the gurney for support. “We have to tell them. I don’t have any…” He swallows, licks his lips, and switches to talking in English. “I can’t afford this, Jongin. I don’t have any money in case you need a —”  
  
“I’m insured.” Jongin grips on Kyungsoo’s hand again. “Mom and Dad and my sisters would find out sooner or later, but it doesn’t have to be now… Please.”  
  
“Kid, this man isn’t your family.” The medic thrusts a finger at Kyungsoo’s direction. “You’re already of legal age, but if something goes wrong, he’s not in any position to —”  
  
“A favor for a favor,” Jongin says desperately to Kyungsoo. His face twists in chagrin. “Don’t call my family. I’ll be alright. I’m only banged up a little.”  
  
_A little?_  Kyungsoo’s eyes rake in the cuts and bruises on Jongin’s face. “Jongin, he’s right. Don’t… don’t be so stubborn. We’ll just tell your parents that you’re —”  
  
“No! Please, hyung, don’t tell them anything,” Jongin insists. “They’ll have me move out as soon as they find out. You can’t let me go.”  
  
Kyungsoo taps Jongin’s shaking hand on his arm, like placating a child in hysterics, “Hey, sshh. Please calm down.”  
  
“Don’t tell them. Hyung, don’t tell them.”  
  
“Okay, I won’t,” Kyungsoo resigns. “But what am I supposed to do? I told you, I don’t… I can’t…”  
  
“You don’t have to worry about anything. Staying right next to me is enough.”  
  
Kyungsoo’s chest tightens again. “It’s not.” He remembers holding his father’s hand as he slept at the side of the hospital bed and being absolutely useless. Staying next to someone will never be enough.  
  
Jongin’s eyes shine, and Kyungsoo sees those three words. It’s there, etched on Jongin’s face. Plain as day.  
  
The sedative is taking effect – Kyungsoo finds Jongin struggling to stay awake, but eventually, his hold on Kyungsoo’s fingers slacks. “You’re just like him, hyung,” Jongin mumbles. “You’re just like the rabbit.”  
  
“W-what?”  
  
“He’s getting delirious,” the medic supplies. He amps up the drug. “Let the kid have some rest, sir.”   
  
Kyungsoo nods stiffly, and lets the hollowness in his heart crawl right back as soon as Jongin closes his eyes. 

****

  
  
  
The doctor says that Jongin isn’t hurt enough to warrant an operation of any kind – his wounds, although numerous, are superficial, and his blood pressure and other vital signs are surprisingly stable for a person who got mugged in the middle of the night by four vicious people. Kyungsoo cradles his head with his hands, feeling awfully winded at the news.  
  
After eating in the cafeteria downstairs, Kyungsoo slowly enters the room, his footsteps muted against the pearl white vinyl floor, but Jongin’s eyes spring open as if they were loud enough to rouse him from his slumber.   
  
“Hello.” Kyungsoo takes the empty seat right next to the bed.  
  
Jongin’s gaze follows him as he sits down and stares at him for a while, before asking groggily, “How long will I be here?” He holds up his arms, and the dextrose slides up to his blanket. “I feel like a prisoner more than anything.”  
  
Kyungsoo thinks about it. “Three days. I already called Zitao. He says he’ll explain everything to your professors or something like that. We’ve already blocked your credit cards too, so I think all the basics are settled now.”  
  
“You’re the best,” Jongin says, winking with his good eye.  
  
Kyungsoo scowls at him dutifully.  
  
“I got my sleep. You should get yours too. You’re so prickly,” Jongin continues, gesturing at the red veins in the whites of Kyungsoo’s eyes. He then traces the elder’s chewed up nails and chuckles. “And your fingers are all horrible and bleeding. What am I going to do with you?”  
  
Kyungsoo looks at him again, wearily. It would’ve been easier if Jongin never noticed things. “I’m doing all the worrying in your family’s stead,” he answers. “I understand why you don’t want your parents to know, but really, Jongin. It’s so fucking stupid.”  
  
“It’s not my time yet, clearly,” Jongin says, flexing his toes, curling and unfurling them repeatedly. “I don’t want to leave Alphabet City. Unfinished business and all that.” He beams at Kyungsoo meaningfully, and Kyungsoo blushes.  
  
Kyungsoo folds the blanket down again to cover Jongin’s rebellious feet. The AC in this room has been set down too low, and Kyungsoo can’t find the remote at the moment. “Your draft is gone, though,” he says carefully, watching the boy from the corner of his eye. “And to think that you’re almost through with it.”  
  
Jongin nods a little. “Rewriting it will be such a pain in the ass, but don’t worry. It’s all in here.” He raps his head with his bandaged knuckles. “And in here.” He taps his chest with his palm.  
  
Kyungsoo manages to sputter a quick laugh. “Still haven’t lost the sappiness. Wonderful.”  
  
“You’re addicted to it. Admit it,” Jongin says and snickers. He absently runs a thumb around Kyungsoo’s chipped fingernails, and it’s really absurd, how Kyungsoo catches himself leaning into every touch.   
  
“If it makes you happy,” Kyungsoo mumbles, covering up with an indignant snort.   
  
Jongin laughs and unabashedly runs a hand on Kyungsoo’s forearm, leaving a thick trail of goosebumps in its wake. Jongin stops at the pulse point right next to Kyungsoo’s elbow, and Kyungsoo snaps his head swiftly and looks at him in confusion. A minute of utter silence passes with nothing but the tenderness on Jongin’s slightly parted lips, and it makes Kyungsoo nibble on his own in turn.  
  
“There was that one time I pulled a prank on you,” Jongin utters finally. His gaze is fixed on his thumb pressing down lightly on Kyungsoo’s arm. “You know what I’m talking about, right?”  
  
“Yeah,” Kyungsoo replies, pulling back a wince. It was very silly of course. In retrospect, Jongin meant no harm at all. Just being an idiot, like always.  
  
“Your face… I could never forget it,” Jongin says. “I’ve never seen you so scared. You were too scared to lash out on me.”  
  
Kyungsoo skips a breath, skips a heartbeat. He’d been more than scared. He couldn’t believe that Jongin had gone through his filming equipment and splattered red food coloring all over the living room. He’d painted it around his neck too, like a burglar had traipsed through the storey window in that one, boring day in April and sliced his throat open. Kyungsoo’s knees had withered instantly at the sight of the fake carnage.  
  
“You didn’t talk to me for days.” Jongin chuckles. He starts drawing soothing circles around Kyungsoo’s erratic pulse. “I felt really, really horrible.”  
  
“You should be,” Kyungsoo admonishes. “I’m still mad at you for that. What the  _fuck_  where you thinking?”  
  
Jongin shrugs, and the flinch he tries to hide doesn’t go out of Kyungsoo’s notice. “I wasn’t exactly thinking. I don’t know. I’m so immature. You — you weren’t around a lot that time. I just wanted my Kyungsoo hyung to pay attention to me, that’s all.” He frowns deeply. “You only spared me from your cold shoulder when I asked Baekhyun hyung to come visit you. That still irritates me.”  
  
“As long as you’re sorry,” Kyungsoo says.  
  
But Jongin isn’t finished. He presses down on Kyungsoo’s pulse again. “I will never forget that expression on your face when you saw me spread out across the bloody carpet— I’ve never seen anyone so scared before. I didn’t understand at first, but then last night…” Jongin chews on his upper lip, his half-lidded eyes dark and penetrating. Kyungsoo can’t wiggle out of his gaze even if he wants to. “Last night in the alley. It was worse. Much worse. You were even worse than I was. You couldn’t even breathe properly.”  
  
Kyungsoo had actually felt like his lungs had been ripped out of his ribcage and shredded into pieces. He doesn’t say this, though. The feeling isn’t something he can put into words. “I saw you lying like a vegetable on the ground right next to a dumpster. How was I supposed to react?”  
  
“I’ve never had someone look at me like that. No one but you.” Jongin punctuates this with a choked laugh. He shakes his head slowly, like he still can’t believe it. “It’s so sad. I had to get beaten up this badly just so I’d get to see it with my own eyes.”  
  
A trickle of sweat travels down Kyungsoo’s back, heavy with anxiousness and fear.   
  
“You’ve always looked at me a bit differently,” Jongin says. “I thought that it was just me, and you were babying me like everyone else was. But you’re cold too, sometimes, and you’d glare at me and you never want me close.” He gulps. “But when you look at me, it’s so —”  
  
“That’s — that’s not…” Kyungsoo’s voice wobbles, and his throat feels so dry. Everything feels funny, especially this dull throb in his chest that simply won’t go away. He runs a hand through his hair. “Don’t misunderstand.”  
  
Jongin looks at him and grins with much effort. “I know. You don’t want to be in a relationship with me because you’re twenty-nine and I’m twenty-three, and you have to worry about the film and money and your parents’ house and getting it all together, and your brother’s in jail and you have issues with my family, and you seriously hate my guts.” He chokes out a tired laugh. “Yet you’re here, giving me everything. Of course. I understand everything perfectly.”  
  
Kyungsoo frowns at him. He remembers Jongin’s fingers brushing his cheek. “That biting sarcasm doesn’t suit you.”  
  
“It doesn’t have to be this complicated,” Jongin says, and it makes Kyungsoo’s heart ache. “You can’t hide it from me forever. I know now. You love me too.”  
  
Kyungsoo sighs, and the big hole in his chest screams and screams, demanding to be filled up. If Kyungsoo could just lean in, press his nose to that sad mess that is Jongin’s brown hair. If he could just caress the younger man’s cheeks, melt under Jongin’s loving gaze, and press his lips onto Jongin’s — it would be great. Real happiness.  
  
“Why aren’t you saying anything?” Jongin questions as the blood rushes up and up and way out of control in Kyungsoo’s face and neck. “You have to tell me I’m right.” He takes Kyungsoo’s hand lying limply on the side, and Kyungsoo shivers. Jongin’s skin is so cold.  
  
Kyungsoo tightens his grip in order to relay some of the warmth he still has. “We’re not in a relationship. I’m not your anything.”  
  
Jongin’s laugh is dry and humorless. “This is too cruel,” he says. “You’re not even giving me a chance.”  
  
“Because there won’t be.” The hiss that tumbles out of Kyungsoo’s lips sound almost inhuman. “You know that I —”  
  
“Stop lying to me, hyung,” Jongin says. “I know you love me. You can’t tell me otherwise.”  
  
_You don’t have to know_ , Kyungsoo says in his head.  _It’s not important._  
  
“Is it really too much for you to want me as much as I want you?” Jongin asks, interrupting Kyungsoo’s thoughts. “Is it really necessary for you to hold yourself back? Because I’m really confused. You’ve already fallen for me, but you’re trying your best to climb your way out. I don’t understand… why?”  
  
Kyungsoo purses his lips. He almost hiccups when something bubbles in his stomach, and he huffs in frustration. He has just slammed into a brick wall he’d been trying so hard not to hit, and the impact crushes his lungs and squeezes the jumbled feelings in his heart to his throat and out his lips.   
  
“You were wrong about me, Jongin,” Kyungsoo mutters. “I’ve loved before. I’ve loved a lot. But it wasn’t nice. It got… scary.” He thinks of his parents, of Seungsoo. He thinks of Baekhyun and Baekbeom and Yuri and the twins. He thinks of Chanyeol and Sehun, and Junmyeon and Yifan.   
  
“If I owe kindness a lot of favors, I owe love everything,” Kyungsoo says. “Everything good that happened and everything painful, too. It got too big and it got too suffocating. I couldn’t pay everything back in time. Love is too hard. I don’t want to feel like I’m constantly drowning in quicksand.”  
  
Jongin is staring up at him, eyes gleaming with that stupid, stupid  _feeling_  again. Kyungsoo releases another breath, the wind knocked right out of him after all the words he’s said, but the road zigzags and Kyungsoo slams into the another wall, and another flurry of emotions escapes from the gaping hole in his chest.   
  
“So what if I love you?” Kyungsoo says rather harshly. “What happens if you go? If you leave? It would hurt, because I’d miss you terribly.” He recalls the last week of July, Jongin’s maroon sneaker in the dark alley, and Kyungsoo squints hard because he can’t see anything anymore. He’s gone blind. “What if you suddenly love somebody else, Jongin? That would hurt. That would definitely hurt. People find someone new every day. It happens.”  
  
“Hyung…” Jongin withdraws his hand and uses it to hold himself up. He holds onto the braces as leverage and wraps his good arm around Kyungsoo’s shoulders, until Kyungsoo’s face is buried in the soft material of Jongin’s hospital gown. “Hey, don’t… don’t think of it that way…”  
  
“You already know,” Kyungsoo says. “How I gave up everything because of love. How I ended up being like this. Can’t you understand? This is the real world. I’m not your bedtime story. I don’t want to tuck you into bed.” He’s so sick of feeling, so sick of everything being taken away from him as soon as he thinks he’s sacrificed enough to make them last. It’s gruesome. It’s sad. It’s too sad. “Jongin, I don’t want to love anymore.”  
  
Jongin sighs against Kyungsoo’s neck, and it comes out garbled and weak. “No, you don’t mean that one bit.” He whimpers. “Stop lying.”  
  
Kyungsoo’s shoulders quake, and he hasn’t anticipated the pain from the wreckage to linger. He closes his eyes tight. “You’re so stubborn. I told you already. My heart isn’t good, Jongin. Why would you want that? Why would you want such a wrecked piece of shit like that? Tell me.”   
  
“It’s simple,” Jongin mumbles. “It’s because I love you.”  
  
Kyungsoo’s heart clenches miserably. “You’re so dumb,” he says. “I swear to god, you’re so fucking dumb.”  
  
Kyungsoo doesn’t know how long Jongin hugs him, squeezing him tight until his trembling dies down even as the ache continues. He’s already lost count on how many times Jongin has done this for him, held him like this as he breaks.   
  
He does, though, notice when his arms start to feel numb, like the blood has stopped circulating in his muscles and has gone somewhere else. Kyungsoo taps Jongin’s chest three times, before he’s released. Jongin’s lips have gone pale pink and dry. Kyungsoo wants to kiss him so badly, and he can’t think straight, he can’t move. Love is the most terrible feeling of all.  
  
“But I was right. You love me,” is what Jongin says to break the silence. His eyes continue their search in Kyungsoo’s forlorn face. “You don’t want to love me, but you still do.”  
  
“Jongin, come on,” Kyungsoo groans, exasperated.  
  
“Yes or no,” Jongin presses. “Hyung, do you fucking  _love_  me?” He waits, hand hovering over Kyungsoo’s waist just in case the older man decides to bolt. Like despite everything Kyungsoo has callously said, his answer to Jongin’s final question is the only thing that matters.  
  
Jongin is such a kid. Jongin is so frustrating. Jongin only thinks about the happiness, and not the sadness, the pain. Jongin never listens.  
  
Kyungsoo gives up.  
  
“Yes,” Kyungsoo confesses in all hopelessness. “I do. I love you, Jongin.”  
  
There. He’s said it. Kyungsoo takes a quick breath, ridiculously tired after finally laying it all out in the open.   
  
The tips of Jongin’s ears color magnificently. It takes more than a minute for Jongin’s lips to form a smile with the bruise near his jaw, but it lasts and it grows until the younger man starts grinning. At the moment, Kyungsoo can’t synthesize in his brain whether he’s made a mistake or not.  
  
“You’re so cruel to me,” Jongin repeats. “Always making me work hard for something so fucking simple.” He leans forward with red cheeks, and his eyes crinkle until they almost disappear, just in time for Kyungsoo to see the affection swimming in them.   
  
“I’ll kiss you now,” Jongin says. “This particular part of loving me won’t hurt. I promise.”  
  
Kyungsoo doesn’t believe him — he’s kissed Jongin before way too many times, more than he would’ve liked — but Jongin makes his move and captures the elder’s breath in a second.   
  
He slowly eases his way into Kyungsoo’s mouth, parting them with a slight nibble, until he firmly meshes their lips together. Kyungsoo wishes it was easy to feel only the desire and extreme longing he always gets in kissing Jongin, and that it would be enough to ease the uncomfortable twinge in his chest.   
  
But perhaps it’s not really that simple, or at least not yet, and the sweetness of the moment can’t chase away the discord in the very core of Kyungsoo’s soul.


	3. [2/2]

****

[2/2]

****

  
Kyungsoo hears Baekhyun before he sees him. The ridges on the soles of the other man’s boots generate a very loud squeaking sound in the otherwise silent hallway. Baekhyun’s new hairstyle is withering. Kyungsoo feels a pang of guilt take him instantly.  
  
“Any news?” Baekhyun says as he sits down. The plastic headrest squeaks unbearably loud too. “What did the police say this time?”  
  
Kyungsoo laughs just for the sake of clearing his Sahara-dry throat. “Lack of news is all the news there is.” He graciously thanks Baekhyun as the brown-haired boy hands him Jongin’s spare clothes inside a purple paper bag. “People get mugged in that part of the city almost every day. Fuckers should’ve installed cameras there a century ago.”  
  
“I don’t even understand why robbers target places where there’re Chinese restaurants nearby. But Jongin’s fine, right?”  
  
“I think so. He should be, or his parents will kill him.” Kyungsoo laughs gravely again. He shivers at the sudden gust from the AC above them. “I’ll kill him.”  
  
Baekhyun titters, takes a hold of Kyungsoo’s head, and leans it onto his shoulder. It’s a simple gesture that reminds Kyungsoo of all the times they took the bus together, as both friends and boyfriends. It also reminds Kyungsoo of all the love he’s gone through. “You don’t mean that one bit,” Baekhyun whispers, and it leaves a hollow pit in Kyungsoo’s abdomen, because yesterday, Jongin said something similar.  
  
“Seems like bad luck wants to marry me, Baek,” Kyungsoo says out loud. “You, Baekbeom, Seungsoo, Dad, and now Jongin. I think I’m… I think I’m cursed or something.”  
  
Baekhyun shakes his head. “Only thing you’ve ever done wrong is caring about other people too much.” He squeezes Kyungsoo’s thigh in a comforting gesture. “But that’s why you’re you, Do Kyungsoo. We may not have loved each other enough to stay together, but I damn sure fell in love with that part of you. I guess Jongin fell for that same trap. Not that it means something bad —”  
  
“Baekhyun?”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
Kyungsoo shakes his head minutely. “You’re rambling.”  
  
Baekhyun pouts before chuckling. “Okay, sorry.” He puts an arm around Kyungsoo’s upper body in a protective embrace.  
  
Kyungsoo fully leans onto it. “Does caring too much land another person in a hospital bed?” he mutters, digging his fingers in Baekhyun’s cotton shirt. Baekhyun smells of spilled energy drinks and hard labor. Baekhyun’s mother’s room is only a floor away from them, and he hopes Mrs. Byun is recuperating well, after that other operation.  
  
It takes a long time for Baekhyun to answer. “If you consider caring as a horrible sickness, then yeah.” He laughs, and Kyungsoo bobs along with the trembling of his shoulders. “Look at you, though. That never stopped you.”  
  
“I wish I could, you know. Stop.” Kyungsoo sighs. “I’m jealous of you and Taeyeon noona. You two are practically attached at the hip but nothing has gone horribly wrong so far.”  
  
“Well, I guess you’re right about the bad luck if you put it that way.”  
  
Kyungsoo extricates himself and strikes his fist on Baekhyun’s navel.  
  
Baekhyun chortles in glee. “So violent.” He smirks. “My lovely lady Taeyeon and I are a different case. Don’t compare us to you and Jongin. We don’t have romance issues like you two have.”  
  
Kyungsoo glowers at him. Baekhyun can easily turn around the mood into a sour one if he wants to. Jerk. “‘Romance issues?’”   
  
“What? Too soon?”  
  
“Fuck off,” Kyungsoo says. “I don’t want to hear another ‘I told you so’ from you.”  
  
Baekhyun snorts. “Why would it even matter to you if I tease you? You never listen to anyone. Jongin just has a few screws loose in his head to fall madly in love with an insufferable asshole like you.”   
  
“Talking big again. How long will you let Taeyeon noona wait for that ring, anyway?”  
  
“Violent  _and_  impatient,” Baekhyun says, and the color on his cheeks springs free. “Stop pestering me when you don’t even have a suit for our wedding day.”  
  
Kyungsoo waves a hand and smiles thinly. “I’m not the one who’s impatient. I just don’t like seeing your girlfriend look at married couples in Satsko with that weird, longing look in her eyes.” Last time, he’d seen Taeyeon glance way too many times at a same-aged girl with a gold band on her ring finger when she thought no one was looking. It had been a pretty sad sight. “She’s at an age where she’s seriously into settling down, Baekhyun.”  
  
“Don’t remind me of the age difference,” Baekhyun says, pouting. “Her parents seriously think I’m not good enough for her. Another reason why I’m a little hesitant to ask.”  
  
“Is that even important? I thought you two were crazy about each other. Isn’t that supposed to be enough?”  
  
Baekhyun looks at him incredulously before heaving a breath in disdain. “I should ask you the same about Jongin,” he says, and it’s late for Kyungsoo to hide his blush. “Look, let’s fix our fucked-up lives first and meet again in ten years, yeah? Eyes on the prize.”  
  
The paper bag on Kyungsoo’s lap burns the skin of his arm. He scowls. “Given the situation, I don’t think I even have ten years left in me.”  
  
Baekhyun laughs. He pinches Kyungsoo’s cheeks as he sings another refrain of how his best friend has gotten morbidly dramatic in the past months.

****

  
  
  
After buying a new laptop and replacing the broken screen on Jongin’s phone, they arrive back at East 6th. The taxi ride is quiet, an unnatural kind of quiet. Jongin’s hand has been twitching manically beside his, and the hum of the motor in the confinement of the car hasn’t been wonderful at all. The cabbie keeps on looking at them by the mirror, eyeing them uncomfortably, a hapless onlooker of Kyungsoo and Jongin’s awkward semblance-of-something.  
  
The tension in the air only abates a little once they’re in the apartment. Kyungsoo closes the door behind him, only to turn around and have Jongin’s hand firmly around his wrist, making him yelp in surprise.   
  
“Am I making you upset?” Jongin mumbles morosely at his sneakers.   
  
Kyungsoo rearranges his features and frowns, guilty. He waits for Jongin to let go of his hand and says, “Sorry. I just can’t —” He shakes his head. “— this is really…“   
  
He’s not sure how to explain. Seeing the big fat bruise on the side of Jongin’s mouth and wanting to  _lick_  it like some sort of ravenous kitten — all of this is really, really strange for Kyungsoo to acknowledge.   
  
“What?” Jongin asks as he envelops Kyungsoo in a small embrace. “What seems to be the problem?”  
  
Kyungsoo pushes the younger away when his heart makes a terrifying  _ga-glump_  on his ribcage. “J-Jongin, let’s not…” he stutters. “Remember our truce?”  
  
Jongin nods and sighs in resignation. His fingers curl around Kyungsoo’s wrist again. “Will you come with me?” he starts, and Kyungsoo, understanding what he means, nods in answer.   
  
They go inside Jongin’s room, with Kyungsoo sitting robotically still on the edge of the bed until Jongin rolls his eyes.  
  
“Can you stop acting so edgy?” Jongin whispers as he pulls out his new Macbook from his bag. “You’re making me nervous too.”  
  
Kyungsoo wrinkles his nose in chagrin. “I know.” He sighs. “Sorry. I’ll stay quiet and help you write as much as you can.”  
  
Jongin gives him a look, one of those special kinds that especially makes Kyungsoo feel like he’s kicked a puppy from behind and forgot to apologize. But it’s gone before Kyungsoo can muster anything to say. Jongin’s expression turns hard and determined in front at the new blank document on his screen.  
  
“I’m sorry, too,” Kyungsoo thinks he hears Jongin mutter at his keyboard as the college boy starts to type away. He could be wrong.   
  
Kyungsoo settles with staring at the ceiling with his head propped up by his arms, just like he’s always done when Jongin plows through his term paper deadlines. But with the window wide open like this, letting a stream of air blow at the scraps of Kyungsoo-poodle doodles on the corkboard by the desk, Kyungsoo knows instinctively that everything he’s kept precariously in balance has already shifted. Sharing an apartment isn’t a matter of co-dependency anymore. The burn in Kyungsoo’s lungs as he lies there, drinking in all the things he loves about Jongin’s untidy room, catching Jongin looking at him a beat too long from time to time, warns him that he’ll really have to sort this one out as soon as he can.  
  
It starts getting difficult, lying there and doing nothing while Jongin prepares another outline for his journal entry — Kyungsoo starts fidgeting relentlessly around the second hour. Jongin notices, arching an eyebrow at him once in a while, but keeps his silence.  
  
Kyungsoo moves to get up. “Are you hungry?” he says as Jongin angles his face towards him.  
  
“Not really,” Jongin replies a bit hesitantly. “Can we order out tonight? You don’t have to… you know.”  
  
Kyungsoo bites his lower lip, blushing. “I understand. I’ll just go get something. I’ll be back here in a sec and keep you company.”  
  
The sheer look of gratitude and relief on the dancer’s face almost makes Kyungsoo crack up, and for the first time that day, Kyungsoo feels a little more like himself. He chuckles serenely and leaves the room.  
  
When he comes back with a children’s book under his arm, Jongin gapes at him for a while before laughing out loud. “I can’t believe you haven’t finished it yet.”   
  
Kyungsoo sits next to him on the bed, closer than earlier. “I’m not a fast reader,” he says, and Jongin peers at him with a teasing grin. The tension slips away a little, which is good.  
  
Jongin turns back to his document, pushing off his hair away from his forehead. “I ordered pizza,” he says. “Is that alright?”  
  
“Yeah, sure,” Kyungsoo says, cracking the spine of his copy of  _The Miraculous Journey_  near the end.  
  
Chapter twenty starts with a picture of Edward in puppet strings. Another variation of dread claws at the pit of Kyungsoo’s gut.   
  
_How many dancing rabbits have you seen in your life?_  is the first line that greets him. It continues with Bryce and Edward slumming in the streets of Memphis, begging for coins from strangers, and it sounds so familiar that Kyungsoo can already tell what’s going to happen next.  
  
_Look at me_ , Edward narrates.  _You got your wish. I have learned how to love. And it’s a terrible thing._  
  
Kyungsoo’s hand freezes on the page.   
  
Edward pleads,  _Come back. Fix me._  
  
“This is going to end badly, right?” Kyungsoo muses out loud before he can stop himself.   
  
“Hmm?” Jongin turns. “I’ve read that more than a dozen times and I don’t remember it ever having a bad ending.” He tilts his head thoughtfully, and Kyungsoo instantly regrets asking. “Hyung… did you stop reading because of that?”  
  
Kyungsoo pulls his bangs down as hard as he can so they cover his eyes. “I might have,” he admits, ears red. “But I was pretty busy with work too, so there’s that.”  
  
“I guess. But if it troubled you so much, why didn’t you ask me about it before?” he says and laughs. “You’re so cute.”  
  
“Whatever,” Kyungsoo dismisses with a sigh. “That’s a relief, I guess.” He gives Jongin a dubious stare. “What kind of book is this, anyway? I thought it was a children’s book.”  
  
“It  _is_  a children’s book.”  
  
“It’s a bit depressing, Jongin, seriously.” Kyungsoo shows him the page where Bryce cries and Edward dances in the streets as a show toy. “Now I know why this one didn’t make it big.”  
  
Jongin sets his laptop aside and sports a heavily offended expression on his face, his lips parted. “That’s just low. Edward the Rabbit might’ve had a lot more hurdles to conquer than the usual story, but that’s what makes it great,” he argues fervently. “You shouldn’t give up when it looks like everything bad has piled up. You should keep at it until the end.”  
  
Kyungsoo scowls. “I wish I had your optimism,” he says, before sighing. He waves the page at Jongin’s face again. “Look, at least I’m trying now. You’d better be right about the ending.”  
  
“I am,” Jongin answers in confidence, scooting closer until his arm is pressed against Kyungsoo’s shoulder. “It’s a fucking amazing book. Trust me on this one.”  
  
Kyungsoo tries his best not to glance to his left, where he’s sure Jongin is leaning in so close that it would be impossible not to look away. He nods and says, “Alright, alright. I’m reading it, I’m reading it.”  
  
Kyungsoo forges on to chapter twenty-two, and then to the next chapter, glaring at the book far too many times as everything just grows worse and worse. He refrains from skimming through the pages, hoping that the gloom will end somewhere along the way.  
  
Then, to Kyungsoo’s surprise, Jongin perches his chin atop Kyungsoo’s shoulder. This time, Kyungsoo can no longer resist, and he stretches his neck to the side.   
  
_Too close!_  his brain screeches when their noses bump together. Kyungsoo edges back. “Err…?”  
  
“I’ll wait for you right here until you finish it,” Jongin says with a flirtatious smile trapped in every dip of his voice, his warm breath assaulting Kyungsoo’s mouth. Kyungsoo can almost taste him.  
  
Kyungsoo inches his face backwards, weakly managing a glower. “I thought you were supposed to be working non-stop,” he snaps without actual heat. “Stop seducing me and write.”  
  
Jongin digs his nose on the crook of Kyungsoo’s neck, wriggling, and he cheers when a fiery blush blooms on Kyungsoo’s cheeks.   
  
Kyungsoo kicks Jongin hard on the flat of his ass. Jongin is getting under his skin and sticking there. “Your mood swings, goddammit,” he says, and points at the way Jongin’s hands have suddenly taken residence around his waist. “I can’t read if you keep on clinging on to me like a barnacle. It’s distracting.”  
  
Jongin frowns. His hands slowly retreat back to his side, but he keeps his chin planted firmly on Kyungsoo’s shoulder. “Don’t you love it if someone holds onto you while you’re doing something? Don’t you feel… happy?”  
  
“Stupid,” Kyungsoo says not unkindly. “Perhaps you haven’t noticed yet, but people have an idea of personal space. You’re just weird.”  
  
Jongin shakes his head as his hands travel back again to Kyungsoo’s waist. “This is how I show my affection for you.” He squeezes Kyungsoo tight, making his blood boil to a hundred and sixty. “I know you know that, deep down, but you keep on ignoring my advances. I thought you agreed to our deal that you wouldn’t ignore my feelings for you anymore.”  
  
Kyungsoo is brave enough to snort, indignant. “It’s not that, Jongin.” It’s not that at all.  
  
Jongin pouts. “It made me sad at first, but I thought… maybe there’s something about touching that you don’t like?”  
  
Kyungsoo slaps the book close. He gazes to Jongin’s watery brown irises, and sees his own reflection swimming in them. He hates that. “It’s not touching I have a problem with,” Kyungsoo says, hoping Jongin will leave it like that.  
  
“Then what is it?”  
  
Kyungsoo curses half-heartedly at the ceiling. “Let’s have this talk for another day,” he says. “You have to write —”  
  
“What? No way!” Jongin practically clings to him like a koala as if to make a statement, and Kyungsoo would roll his eyes at how completely ironic the whole situation is if only his pulse wasn’t threatening to burst out of his skin. “If we do, we’ll never have this conversation again,” Jongin argues. “You’ll make sure of it.”   
  
The pizza is taking too long to arrive. He’s all out of ammo. “Fine,” Kyungsoo says gruffly. “Since you’re dying to know, let’s make our relationship even more awkward.”  
  
Jongin’s jaw slackens a little, before grinning deviously. “Shoot,” he says.  
  
Kyungsoo wants to hide his face underneath a pillow, but they’re all out of reach, with Jongin’s upper body a complete blockade from the promise of lessening the humiliation of his impromptu confession. He exhales loudly in defeat.  
  
“You’re very handsome, Jongin,” Kyungsoo begins, face flaming as soon as he says the key word. He recalls that uncomfortable sensation of wanting to kiss the bruises on Jongin’s face as soon as they arrived in the apartment. It makes his stomach twist again. “I’m not going to lie. The first thing I noticed when I first saw you is that you’re very attractive.”  
  
Kyungsoo watches as Jongin’s pupils slowly dilate. “And?” His voice turns husky, two boulders grating together. Not good.  
  
“I’m not innocent. You might think of me as some small, cuddly bear, but if you take away my stuffing I’m —”  _A hormonal, sex maniac?_ Kyungsoo doesn’t know how to phrase that part nicely or coherently.  
  
Jongin is sex, but to Kyungsoo, he’s so much more than that. So, he whispers his next words, just in case the rest of the world is eavesdropping on them. “I don’t want you to think I’ve been preying on you ever since we met. Not all the time. I mean…” He laughs, covering up the fact that there’s sweat collecting at the base of his back. Kyungsoo inhales again in the hopes of keeping his composure until he’s finished.  
  
“This is going to sound very inappropriate, but I do want to touch you, Jongin. Not just affectionately like you do, sometimes,” Kyungsoo says. “Which I think is bad, since we’re not… I mean, I suppose that’s why I don’t like seeing you half-naked from time to time. My less gracious side gets a bit…anxious.”  
  
Jongin’s hands freeze on Kyungsoo’s waist. The color of his face changes to a very deep burgundy, and it makes Kyungsoo want to run. He can read Jongin’s thoughts as clearly as if they were his own.  
  
But Kyungsoo’s unable to move away when Jongin pins him down with a very frazzling stare, and all of a sudden, Jongin’s moving even closer.   
  
Jongin cradles Kyungsoo’s face with his scrapped palms, his thumb caressing the side of Kyungsoo’s cheeks. “Hyung,” he says, before he dips his head and plants his lips softly on Kyungsoo’s unsuspecting mouth.  
  
The tip of Kyungsoo’s chin accidentally brushes against the healing wound at the flat of Jongin’s jaw, making him wince, but the younger man keeps their lips locked. He keeps on kissing Kyungsoo, overwhelmingly warm and tender, and Kyungsoo’s heart flounders just enough for him to kiss him back.  
  
They break away too soon, since Jongin is a bit beat-up to keep up for long, and Kyungsoo wants to understand what this all means.  
  
“It means I desire you too,” Jongin says breathlessly, as if reading Kyungsoo’s mind. Jongin holds up Kyungsoo’s bangs so he can’t hide his eyes from Jongin. “You have no idea how much I want you. I desire all of you.”  
  
“Jongin —”  
  
“Don’t hold back,” Jongin says. He plays with the nooks on Kyungsoo’s fingers. “I told you. I’ll try my best to make loving me a little less painful for you, hyung. Just don’t hold back.”   
  
Kyungsoo pauses. He touches his lips unconsciously, which are still tingling from the way Jongin has kissed them so sweetly. “I’m just saying,” he says quietly. “That I feel all kinds of good and bad stuff when it comes to you.”   
  
Kyungsoo feels a thousand times more vulnerable like this, spread out and flushed in Jongin’s arms, than when he’s battling against real estate collectors and mean, city prosecutors. It’s like his whole body is screaming for Jongin to kiss him, and when Jongin does, everything inside him combusts.   
  
“We’re humans, Kyungsoo,” Jongin says, shrugging. “And we feel. That’s what we do best.”  
  
“Do I have to feel something like this then?” Kyungsoo wonders. “It’s rather indecent. I don’t want to feel that whenever I see you doing the dishes. My brain hotwires sometimes and all I want is for you to take all your clothes off and leave nothing on except for that bunny apron.”  
  
“Nice. Very rated.” Jongin grins. “I love how you’re suddenly telling me this, all casual and stuff. We’re tackling a lot of things today.”  
  
“Help me out here,” Kyungsoo says, aggravated, as Jongin nuzzles his neck. “This is different, you and me. We need to work this out or I’ll —”  
  
“What?” Jongin kisses the skin under Kyungsoo’s jaw lightly. “What will you do?”  
  
Kyungsoo puffs out his cheeks, and the doorbell to their apartment chooses that exact moment to ring. “N-nothing,” he mumbles. “Forget what I said.” He makes the most out of the opportunity by extracting himself from Jongin’s too warm bear hug and too slick kisses to slip out of the bed. He needs to catch his breath.  
  
“You absolutely failed, hyung,” Jongin calls out before Kyungsoo leaves the bedroom. He looks as winded as Kyungsoo is.   
  
Jongin then flashes Kyungsoo a small smile — a thank you for the honesty. “You didn’t make it awkward for me,” he promises. “Just so you’d know.”  
  
It catches Kyungsoo off-guard so that he mismatches the slippers on his feet, but he quickly recovers. Kyungsoo smiles softly in return, watching Jongin’s shoulders visibly relax, and heads down the stairs. 

 

****

  
  
  
Sehun looks at him, regards him for a while, until he speaks up, “You need a new wallet.”  
  
Kyungsoo peers down at his hands. The leather has cracks everywhere, at the edges, at the spine, and the pack of deposit slips, post-its, and take-out receipts sticks out from the largest flap. He nods, considering. “I’ll buy one later, when we’re finished.”  
  
They’re at one of the new teahouses in East 10th, where Sehun can request extra milk and pearls on his drink without getting any affronted looks from the servers. Sehun’s laptop is up and running with four different applications while Sunyoung waits for them at the table, checking the gloss on her fingernails underneath the tungsten light.  
  
“When does Jimmy want the final cut?” Kyungsoo says as they sit down. His thighs ache from all that standing he did earlier in S.K. Deli.  
  
“Next week. Start of June,” Sehun replies. He shoos Sunyoung away from his seat. She in turn rolls her eyes but relents. “He’ll send us a message after the board decides the line-up.”  
  
“There’re no fees for the submission, right?”  
  
“Nope. Just make sure that the time length’s enough for a feature film.”  
  
Kyungsoo nods. “Right.”  
  
“I hope we either go in first or last,” Sunyoung says. “Opening or ending for the awards’ night would be memorable.”  
  
“I’m already thankful we got in,” Kyungsoo admits. He opens his notebook to the last page of the summary. His handwriting got messier as it progressed towards the end of the outline. Jongin had been rapping some dismal idol song at the top of his lungs that time, and Kyungsoo hadn’t been able to keep his head up from the noise.  
  
“I thought our truce was still in effect,” Kyungsoo had snapped as he struggled with detangling his feet from Jongin’s blankets. They’d started working together now in the same room, usually in Jongin’s room, where the younger could be comfortable enough to rewrite his journal draft with ease. “If you’re not going to stop howling, I’m going to leave.”  
  
“I wasn’t howling,” Jongin interjected, pouting. “I was thinking. I’m helping myself think.”  
  
Kyungsoo shook his head and looked back to his notebook. “Think quietly, then. You’re not the only one with a deadline here.”  
  
“Sorry. Sorry, hyung.”   
  
Kyungsoo could almost see the puppy ears drooping in shame, and he sighed.   
  
“Aren’t you stressed about that?” he said, diverting the conversation. Jongin’s head peeked up from his laptop in response. “Your entry? You’re a lot less panicky about it than you were when we first met.”  
  
Jongin made an ‘ahh’ motion with his mouth before he smiled. “I’m more composed because I know where I’m going. I know now how it’s supposed to end,” he said. “I’m just actually picking scraps from my old idea and molding a new story out of it, and… my recent experiences here helped a lot. Alphabet City helped. I found myself a new muse.” He chuckled. “A much formidable one at that.”  
  
“A new muse, huh?” Kyungsoo pursed his lips. “Then why am I here?”  
  
Jongin had looked at him in confusion at first before bursting out loud laughter. “I really do have to spell everything out for you,” he’d teased. “Don’t worry. I’ll finish writing this on time. Just tell me if I’m making too much noise again.”  
  
A manicured hand comes and waves in his field of vision, effectively breaking his thoughts. “Your phone,” Sunyoung points out at the Motorola on the edge of the table. “It vibrated a couple of times just a second ago.”  
  
“Ahh. Umm.” Kyungsoo checks the text message.   
  
Speaking of the devil.  _Hyung, can you come with me later? I need to buy a new pair of slacks ~_  
  
Kyungsoo acquiesces without a second thought and types,  _Ok. Where do you want to meet?_  
  
“Now I’m really confused,” Sunyoung says after she’s taken a sip from her cup of matcha. She gestures at Kyungsoo, and then to his beat-up flip phone. “What are you two?”  
  
Sehun’s eyes remain fixed on the screen, but the clicking noises from his mouse stop at the question.   
  
Kyungsoo inwardly groans at the sudden attention. “I guess we’re friends,” he says as solemnly as possible. The frown on Sunyoung’s lips tells him that she isn’t convinced even in the slightest, but other than that, Kyungsoo can’t make much of a compelling answer.  
  
Sunyoung shakes her head. “There was a barrier before, when I first saw the two of you in the same room. There still was, when I met you two again, but it’s a different kind.” She shakes her head even more. “How can you call yourself friends with something colossal like that?”  
  
“Fine,” Kyungsoo grunts as his phone vibrates again.   
  
_Aren’t you going to ask what’s it for? : > _  
  
Kyungsoo replies with,  _No need. You’ll tell me later anyway_ , and continues, “Jongin and I are enemies. Now can we please focus on work?”  
  
“I’m almost done editing the last part,” Sehun pipes up. “Do continue with the interrogation, Sunyoung noona.”  
  
“You two are dating, aren’t you?” Sunyoung eyes Kyungsoo critically. A tall lady enters from the back door with a crying kid in tow, and Kyungsoo watches as she gazes at the menu while the much shorter cashier strains her neck upwards to take her order. “Come on. There’s nothing shameful or scandalous about it.”  
  
_Let’s meet at screaming mimi’s :) 6 o’ clock?_  
  
_Ok._  
  
“We’re not dating. We’re not lovers,” Kyungsoo answers, wrinkling his nose in displeasure. He hates being hounded like this most of all.   
  
“But Jongin wants to be, right? And you do too,” Sunyoung stresses.   
  
“I don’t.”  
  
“Okay, alright. But we’ve established that Jongin does.”  
  
“They made out more than once. It’s obvious,” Sehun says as he puts down his laptop lid. “Kyungsoo hyung likes putting up force fields. Makes him feel more powerful and stuff. Don’t take his words too seriously.”  
  
Kyungsoo grimaces at him darkly. “Gee. Thanks, Sehun-ah.”  
  
“Just wanted to point out that you still haven’t answered the first question properly,” Sehun says, shrugging. He leans his head against the glass window as he licks the milk from the side of his mouth. “Or maybe you two really haven’t talked about it yet. Wouldn’t be such a surprise since it’s you.”  
  
“What is there to talk about?”  
  
“A lot,” Sunyoung supplies. “I understand that you think of love as something despicable, Kyungsoo, but it’s still a feeling.”  
  
Kyungsoo’s head pounds. So he and Jongin should talk about their feelings once again? Great. “We’ve done that already –”  _Too many times_ , Kyungsoo adds in his head. “And it sucked. I’m not good at that. Jongin’s alright, but I can’t expect him to row the boat for me all the way. It’s not fair.”  
  
“So you’re going to let it hang in the air, just like that?” Sunyoung says incredulously. She flicks Kyungsoo’s fingers hard, and it jars him a little. “Kyungsoo, Jongin loves you, and you love him back. How can you act like you don’t?”  
  
That’s the problem, Kyungsoo thinks as his gut swirls. He can’t.  
  
He takes his own cup of tea and holds it up. “You know,” Kyungsoo says quietly. “I’d really appreciate it if you guys would stop throwing those words around so carelessly like that.”  
  
Sehun rolls his eyes. “Well, it’s true. It’s a fact,” he says. “But alright. We won’t.”  
  
“It’s still troubling, though,” Sunyoung says. “I know you’ve gone through a lot, Kyungsoo. You still are. And I know you have a lot of things pressing on you as of the moment. But for once, maybe you should let yourself taste a bit of happiness –”  
  
“Am I not happy right now?”  
  
“No,” Sehun and Sunyoung say in unison. Kyungsoo gapes at them, and Sunyoung clarifies with, “I mean, you could be happier. We can see how Jongin affects you, and we thought…”  
  
“I’m fine. I’ll always be fine. Stop worrying,” Kyungsoo says. “Jongin needs someone better, and I can’t afford to be dating right now or have any sort of distraction. Let’s not go there anymore.” His voice tapers off, the words sounding very stale. He’s used this same argument on Baekhyun, and on the rest of the crew who’ve asked. He wonders if he needs a different excuse in case Sunyoung and the others ask again, and Kyungsoo’s slightly positive that they will.   
  
“But you promise that you’ll work it out, alright?” Sunyoung says. Her thin, delicate eyebrows pull together, making her look a lot older than she really is.   
  
Even if Kyungsoo was born a few months earlier than her, Sunyoung has always been like this, doting and needlessly worried, which Kyungsoo sort of understands. She has a twin sister and an older brother back in Ohio, both too reckless to function properly, and now Sunyoung is here, all alone in the city.   
  
Kyungsoo laughs, albeit a bit awkwardly, to ease the tension. “Just stop worrying,” he tells her. “Jongin and I are great as just friends and roommates, and I’ll be moving out in July, anyway. No other complication needed. We’re okay with it.”  
  
Sehun moves to stare at the side of Kyungsoo’s face for a long moment. “You’re not even sure about that.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Honestly, I just wonder… It was an absolute mess with Baekhyun hyung.”  
  
“Sehun!” Sunyoung hisses. “Don’t bring that up!”  
  
“Hey, where do you think Kyungsoo hyung got his stupid conception of love?” Sehun tells her, and Kyungsoo feels the angry sloshing of tea in his gut. “I’m just saying. If things won’t work out between him and Jongin, I don’t think there’s going to be another silver lining for him out there.”  
  
Kyungsoo slaps his palm on the table, ignoring the strange tightness in his abdomen. “I’m right here, you know,” he grumbles. “Think about you and Chanyeol instead, Sehun, before you go wailing about my life, okay?”  
  
Sehun makes a face. “Chanyeol and I are doing great, for your information. Look, we’re offering you advice and you’re getting so defensive. Why are we even friends?”  
  
“Out of convenience,” Kyungsoo deadpans, and Sunyoung laughs at this.   
  
“You’re absolutely dreadful,” Sehun says. “Just remember what we said. If you’re not too busy overthinking everything and recounting all the shit you had to go through, think about Jongin’s feelings.”  
  
Kyungsoo sighs wearily. He doesn’t feel like finishing his tea anymore, and he pushes it forward to Sehun along with the extra mug of milk. “This is like a tag team match more than anything,” he comments. “Except that my partner’s knocked out of the ring.”  
  
Sunyoung chuckles. “We’re all on your side. You just don’t see it.”  
  
His phone vibrates, bouncing minutely on the tabletop once more, and Kyungsoo studies it for a while before checking it.  
  
Kyungsoo notices that it’s an MMS, and so the message takes a long time to load. When it does, the small screen shows a picture of a cute, grey squirrel hiding underneath a wooden bench, a tiny acorn in its hands.  _hyUNG!!! LOOK!!!_  the text below it says.  
  
Kyungsoo does his best to hold back a snigger as he types a reply, pinching his lips together hard. He almost misses Sunyoung and Sehun throwing each other knowing glances when he looks up. 

 

****

  
  
  
“I think this one flatters my butt the best,” Jongin says.  
  
Kyungsoo waves his hand dismissively. “If you’re going to attend a formal party, you’ll have to wear slacks that cover your ankles.” He picks another one from the rack and rams it on Jongin’s chest. That extracts Kyungsoo’s favorite Jongin laugh, the one that pulls Jongin’s entire face up as he opens his mouth wide in mirth. It makes Kyungsoo feel like he’s accomplished something big. It’s odd.  
  
They wait for the man inside the fitting room to finish. Jongin frowns at the indigo velvet curtains and says, “I hate formal parties. They always serve the food late.”  
  
“Can’t argue with that,” Kyungsoo says in return. He’d been through a few mandatory events in college, all of them boring. Kyungsoo’s suit always reeked of champagne he never drank and other “cool” adult stuff when the evening clocked down to a close.   
  
“If only we could bring dates,” Jongin says, smiling from ear to ear. His free hand drapes around Kyungsoo’s shoulders. “It would definitely be a whole lot better.”  
  
Kyungsoo peers at him. “Isn’t it a celebratory ball in the first place?”  
  
“Well, yeah. Not that I’m interested in dancing with anyone tomorrow night, anyway.” Jongin shrugs. “As soon as they hand out the medals and certificates, I’ll bolt.”  
  
Kyungsoo nods, chuckling to himself. He can already picture it out in his head – Jongin’s always had this flair for dramatic exits. A thought then occurs to him, and he asks, “Do your parents know that you won in the district writing competition? Do they even know you entered?”  
  
Jongin’s expression clouds for a moment. “They’re busy.” He dips his Nets cap very low, enough to cover his eyes. “And I can’t talk to them right now because…”  
  
Oh. Kyungsoo glowers at the floor. There are still shadows of the bruise near Jongin’s mouth, masked only by a pair of cartoon Band-Aids. Kyungsoo slips a hand inside his pocket and nibbles on his lower lip. “Right. Sorry.”  
  
The curtains open, and the man in striped purple jeans ushers himself out of the fitting room. Jongin steps inside with the pair of slacks slung over his shoulder, and Kyungsoo clips the curtains close for him.  
  
“Hyung,” Jongin says after a minute has passed, voice muffled. “Can you get me another size? This one’s a bit tight.”  
  
Nodding, Kyungsoo shuffles back to the racks. He removes a larger one from the hanger, folding it up under his arm neatly, and goes back to the curtains. “Here, Jongin.”  
  
A hand peeks out in between the folds, and the pants disappear along with it. Kyungsoo leans his weight against the wooden frames of the doorway, waiting again.  
  
“Hyung?”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
A pause. “Am I courting you?”  
  
Kyungsoo’s knees turn into honey. He’s not sure if he heard right, but he’s standing way too close and – “W-why are you asking me that? All of a sudden?”  
  
Jongin seems to struggle with that question. Kyungsoo’s cheeks flame harder as the second ticks away. “I don’t know. I’m not even sure if I’m allowed to. Court you, I mean.”  
  
“Oh. I…” Kyungsoo cracks his knuckles, thinking. He pulls back his bangs because they keep on falling over his eyes. He badly needs a haircut. “You know what I feel, right, Jongin?”  
  
The make-shift divider flings open, and Jongin steps down from the block stair in a mismatched red polo shirt and black slacks. Kyungsoo notes that it falls just right and covers Jongin’s ankles perfectly.  
  
“I do,” Jongin mumbles. “That’s why I thought…” He rubs his eyebrow with a thumb.  
  
Something akin to panic rises up in Kyungsoo’s throat. “Is it… is it not enough?”  
  
Jongin grimaces. “No, I don’t mean it like that,” he says. “Really, hyung. I don’t get how you can always come up with something so ridiculous every time. Of course I’m happy that you feel the same way towards me.”  
  
“But?” Kyungsoo prompts. “The problem is?”  
  
Jongin saunters closer to him, pinning him on his spot with a fervent stare. His Adam’s apple bobs as he looks deep into Kyungsoo’s eyes. “I just want to know where I belong, with you,” he says.   
  
There it is again. That odd, fuzzy feeling in Kyungsoo’s stomach, causing an uproar inside him.  _Think about Jongin’s feelings_ , Sehun had said hours before. Kyungsoo hasn’t been ignoring them, or putting them off, honestly. He can never do that with Jongin.  
  
Besides, Kyungsoo is just — “Jongin, aren’t you afraid where this will all go?”  
  
Jongin stills, before he scrunches his eyebrows together. He shakes his head. “No. No I’m not,” he says. “I trust you.”   
  
Kyungsoo stares up at him, notices everything different about Jongin. Everything different about them.  
  
“Get dressed,” Kyungsoo chokes out, and Jongin’s throat bobs twice before he complies. It’s quiet for a while except for the sound of swishing cloth and a belt hitting wood. “I — I’m not sure if I can still change my mind about things, if that’s what you wanted to ask,” Kyungsoo says. “But you don’t have to wait for that to happen. Don’t wait anymore, Jongin.”  
  
It goes from quiet to unbearably quiet all in a matter of seconds, until he hears the familiar sound of a belt buckle being slid across a waist. “Okay,” Jongin draws out after a long moment.  
  
The curtain swings open again, and Jongin stands in front of Kyungsoo, barefoot and back in jeans. He smiles softly, eyes crinkling again. Jongin looks so youthful and handsome that something burns white-hot in Kyungsoo’s navel.   
  
“I won’t,” Jongin says, whispering. “But if you ever do, you know, change your mind… I’ll be right here.”  
  
Kyungsoo chews on his philtrum, knotting his fingers together so they won’t fidget. “How is that different from waiting?”  
  
“I just won’t be expecting you to come,” Jongin replies. He puts a hand around Kyungsoo’s neck, playing with the hair there. He sighs. “Thanks. For loving me, anyway.”  
  
Kyungsoo’s knuckles have grown white as his heart beats faster. “No problem?” he says, and Jongin laughs, maybe a bit too high, maybe a bit too hurt.  
  
But it’s easier when there’s no label, Kyungsoo figures, easier not to establish whatever it is that he and Jongin have. Names have power, after all. And as they walk down the busy, busy streets, hands bumping close enough to hold but not quite, Kyungsoo knows that taking this road also means keeping Jongin safe from all the things that Kyungsoo has to carry — like bad luck, debt, random spells of anger, and monthly trips to the prison ward, among other things. As long as Jongin knows that Kyungsoo cares about him, it’s alright. Perhaps it’s enough.  
  
Kyungsoo buys the both of them ice cream, and Jongin tells him of a story when he was six, when he fearlessly protected a girl of his own age from a rabid dog.  
  
“I felt the manliest that time,” Jongin says, puffing out his cheeks and his chest. “I wanted to be the supreme protector of Central Park. Fight crime and stuff.”  
  
“Why didn’t you?”  
  
“I’m scared of guns,” Jongin admits, and Kyungsoo almost blows the chocolate scoop off the cone from chortling so hard. “But then I saw  _The Nutcracker_  in a school play, and writing came into my life not long after, and I found myself dreaming other dreams.”  
  
“Which are strictly non-violent, I can tell,” Kyungsoo says. He eats the last of his cone and dumps the tissue in a trashcan across the street. Jongin stands by the lamppost, bag slung on one shoulder, smiling and waiting. It starts another crack on Kyungsoo’s ribcage.  
  
“But I can write about myself looking after people,” Jongin says as Kyungsoo shuffles back to his spot. They walk again. “I’ll still be Supreme Protector. Just in my head.”  
  
Kyungsoo pauses for a while, and then says, “That sounds a bit… sad. But at least you won’t get hurt or something.”  
  
Jongin juts out his lower lip. “Yeah. I know.” He rolls his shoulder. “And now I’m definitely sure I can’t hold my own against bad guys. We had rehearsals this afternoon, and my back kept on whining like a bitch. I feel old.”  
  
“That’s because you left your pain-relievers on your desk this morning,” Kyungsoo scolds. “And don’t you start. I’m only one year less than thirty right now.”  
  
Jongin snorts. “You’re not that old. Honestly, hyung, you look around five years younger than Tao. The only thing that betrays your age is your hideous choice of sweaters.”  
  
“I’d rather people think I’m old than have them think I’m young,” Kyungsoo says. “There are lots of things you can accomplish when you’re older.”  
  
“A lot of things to worry about too,” Jongin mumbles sullenly.   
  
Kyungsoo whips his gaze to him, but Jongin is staring at his shoes hitting the pavement. He tries to discern the millions of thoughts that flash through the younger’s face, currently showing a squashed paper cup syndrome again, and it makes Kyungsoo’s heart lurch. Whatever Sehun said, Jongin always overthinks more than Kyungsoo does.   
  
He frowns and rests his hand on Jongin’s shoulder, patting it thrice. “Hey, come on. I told you already. Stop scrunching your face like that,” Kyungsoo says. “I have like six more years on you — if there’s anyone who should mush his face like a pug’s, it should be me.”  
  
Jongin makes a tiny, growling noise at the back of his throat, and he reaches over Kyungsoo’s hand on his shoulder. Kyungsoo’s first thought is that he would brush him off, but Jongin takes Kyungsoo’s hand and laces their fingers together instead, grasping them tight.  
  
“Don’t remind me of our age difference,” Jongin grumbles, pouting. Kyungsoo waits, but Jongin continues to hold onto him firmly, and Kyungsoo scratches his scalp with his free hand and sighs.   
  
The rest of the walk is quiet. Kyungsoo stops waiting for Jongin to let go of his hand. 

****

  
  
  
The fan blows hot air into his face with a sharp, creaking sound. It echoes irritatingly loud inside the deli store so that Kyungsoo shuts it down when he’s had enough of the noise.  
  
“I should ask if you’re having a bad day, but you always seem to have bad days,” Jongdae chirps from behind him. He flips the paper on the clipboard and affixes his signature on the bottom right.  
  
“I hate summer.” Kyungsoo fans himself with his hand. “I don’t know why it’s especially torturous this year. The weatherman was right.”  
  
“Haven’t you heard? The weatherman is  _always_  right,” Jongdae declares. His lightly dyed hair curls under his hat, and it makes him look like tabby cat up to no good. Kyungsoo doubts whether Jongdae is really thirty-four like he said. “Which reminds me, did you finally find out who’s your secret admirer?”  
  
Kyungsoo stretches his ear lobe. “My who? My what?”  
  
“You know. The one who’s been keeping your bike seat dry every time it rains.”  
  
“Ahh.” Kyungsoo’s cheeks redden. “It was nothing. It was my roommate, Jongin.”  
  
Jongdae’s grin widens even more. “Really? How did you find out? Did he tell you?”  
  
Kyungsoo nods and thinks back on the time Jongin finally outed himself with that one note he got on his bike last April. Kyungsoo’d been too busy fretting over The Fight that it took quite a while for him to realize that Jongin had always showed that he cared for him, right from the start. As usual, he never got the important hints to a puzzle game unless they got jammed straight to his face.  
  
“Oohh. I’d say that kid’s pretty dangerous,” Jongdae quips. “A real charmer, that one. He knows how to reel.”  
  
Kyungsoo shrugs and props his head on his palm. “Jongin’s just nice. I bet he’d do things like that even to other people.”  
  
“Definitely your type,” Jongdae says, winking, and Kyungsoo feigns a glare.   
  
His phone rings. Kyungsoo quickly extracts it from his pocket and answers. “Hello?”  
  
“Kyungsoo?”  
  
“Oh. Yuri noona!” he greets. “How are you? How are the kids?”  
  
“Doing absolutely great! Summer vacation started a week early for them, and we’re off preparing for Montauk,” Yuri says. There’s a clatter of dishes in the background. She’s probably in the kitchen, preparing lunch for the twins. “Do you guys want to come?”  
  
Kyungsoo grins. “Montauk sounds better than our Hamptons gig last year, but we’ll pass. We still aren’t done with the final touches on the film. I hope you guys have fun.”  
  
“All you do is work work work. Noona is seriously worried,” she says. “How’s Baekhyun?”  
  
“Still a jerk. He’s planning to ask Taeyeon noona to marry him.” Kyungsoo stretches over the counter lazily, rubbing his prickly neck.  
  
“Ahh? Is it time already?” Yuri chuckles in delight. “Where are they planning to settle down?”  
  
Kyungsoo thinks about it for a moment. “I have no idea exactly. Knowing Baekhyun, though, probably far off from the city. He prefers riding tractors more than scooters.”  
  
“So different from Baekbeom,” Yuri comments fondly. “Anyway, Kyungsoo, I called to ask you about something.”  
  
“Yeah? What is it?”  
  
She falls silent for a while. “You deposited more than five thousand dollars to my account last Tuesday,” she says. “Why?”  
  
“Sunjae and Hyerin are moving up to middle school, right?” Kyungsoo bites the nail on his index finger, eyebrows furrowing. “I’ll send in more once I clear things up on my side. Do you need anything else for supplies —”  
  
“Kyungsoo, summer’s just started.”  
  
“Yeah, I know. I sent in money just in case those American schools want reservation fees or something –”  
  
“Kyungsoo,” Yuri says again, cutting him off. “Hyerin and Sunjae are going to a public school for the new term.”  
  
Kyungsoo falters in his shock. He sits up. “Wait, do I have to send in more?” He rummages through the catalogue in his brain. He’s not sure if there’s more left in his bank account. “Is it not enough?”  
  
“No!” Yuri exclaims. “That’s not it! The kids and I have decided. They’ll be transferring schools for 7th grade. With my new job, we’ll still be able to live comfortably. You don’t have to send us money, dear.”  
  
Kyungsoo wipes off the perspiration coating his forehead. He pulls his lips into a thin line. “But… Baekbeom hyung said he wanted them to go to a private co-ed school there at Chelsea.”  
  
Yuri sighs. “It’s alright. We’ve got circumstances working against us, so we have to work our way around it. Just… don’t send us any more money for school, Kyungsoo.”  
  
“But noona —”  
  
“I can handle this,” she insists. “You have to trust me. I know Baekhyunnie and Baekbeom are your best friends, and I know you love the kids, but you can’t keep on supporting us like this, can you? You haven’t even done anything wrong. Letting us live in your parents’ house is more than enough. Honestly, Kyungsoo, it’s really too much.”  
  
Kyungsoo’s hand on the phone clams up. He’s not sure if it’s from the heat.  
  
There’s a sudden burst of children yelling over the receiver, and Yuri screeches something he can’t understand. “Hey, Kyungsoo. I’m sorry. I have to go,” she says regretfully. “Remember what I said, alright? Keep some for yourself — I know money’s tight these days. Promise me you’ll come by for Chuseok this year! Don’t bail!”  
  
“Alright. And yes, I’ll come,” Kyungsoo mumbles, and the line goes dead so instantly that he wonders if Yuri even heard his reply at all.

****

  
  
The story ends with Kyungsoo not knowing how to feel. He’s in his room after a long, long day, and it had only taken a quick read for him to reach chapter twenty-seven of _The Miraculous Journey_. As soon as he closes the book, he spreads his legs on his bed and stares at the ceiling light until it hurts enough that his eyes water.

****

  
  
Jongin’s suddenly putting on a coat and unbolting the double-lock of the door at ten o’ clock in the evening. It jars Kyungsoo from his nightly musings with the apricot-colored stain on the wall as he lies down on the couch.  
  
“I’ll be back, hyung,” Jongin says, eyes out of focus, but Kyungsoo’s not having any of it.  
  
“Where are you going?” Kyungsoo quips. “It’s frickin’ late, Jongin. And have you forgotten your recent run-in with a couple of city thugs?”  
  
“I’ll be quick, I promise,” he says.  
  
“You haven’t answered my question.” Kyungsoo stands up. He’s still wearing his pants, which is sort of miraculous. Most of the time he goes around Jongin’s apartment with his lower body unclothed.  
  
Jongin sighs, finally. “Central Park,” he says.  
  
Kyungsoo tries not to let the surprise show on his face, and puts on a stern look. He grabs his coat from the hanger, elbowing Jongin to move along. Jongin seems quite taken aback at the sudden turn of events, but he doesn’t question it when Kyungsoo follows him out of the apartment.  
  
“Is this another one of your author things?” Kyungsoo says once they’ve boarded the night bus on 8th Avenue. Their shoulders bump as they take their seats, and it’s so late that they’re the only passengers until the third stop comes.  
  
Jongin smiles. “There’s really no such thing as an ‘author thing’, hyung, but yeah, sure. It’s an ‘author thing’.”  
  
“Okay. That thing should have an alarm, though. You kinda freaked me out for a second there. I thought you were sleepwalking.”  
  
The bus picks up at the bend, and Kyungsoo’s cheek brushes the slightly rough material of Jongin’s coat. “You didn’t have to come,” Jongin says softly.  
  
Kyungsoo scoffs, rolling his eyes. “I know I don’t, but I want to,” he says. “And be grateful that I’m busting my butt here to keep you out of trouble —”  
  
“I’m more than grateful,” Jongin says, and he’s absolutely whispering now that Kyungsoo has to check whether Jongin’s really fully awake or something. “I’m more than just grateful,” he repeats. “You know that.”  
  
Kyungsoo chugs his other feelings down.   
  
It’s a quicker journey than Kyungsoo had expected, all under forty minutes. The trees are huge and thick-trunked and bushy, and even the steel benches are amazing to look at, tonight. The lamplights are doing exactly what they’re supposed to do, making everything in the park glow.  
  
They cross a mini-bridge in silence, and Kyungsoo watches Jongin watching a duck preening as it wades through the murky water. This part of The Lake smells like wilted grass, corndogs, and earth, and for some strange reason, Kyungsoo likes it. Jongin seems to like it as well. His eyes are shining.  
  
After Kyungsoo gaped at the Alice in Wonderland statue after they passed by Terrace Drive, Jongin snickers at him and says, “You’re shitting me. Please don’t tell me this is your first time in Central Park.  _Ten years_ , hyung.”  
  
“The real New Yorker between the two of us is you. Even I have to go through military conscription,” Kyungsoo says glumly. “They had to cut me some slack, though, because —”  _Family problems?_  Kyungsoo doesn’t know if those are the right words to use. “Anyway, I really haven’t set myself to sightseeing mode when I came here, you know.”  
  
Jongin grins. “What? You’re like, saving this all up for something grand?”  
  
“I’m not  _that_  sad,” Kyungsoo says. He shrugs. “I just never really thought about coming here, is all.”  
  
Jongin nudges him slightly with his finger until Kyungsoo finally relents and smiles along with him. “There’re really a lot of things to see here in New York, Kyungsoo hyung,” he says. “Though I have to say, your city-travel innocence is still cute. No wonder I keep seeing Korea in you.”  
  
“More of stubborn,” Kyungsoo says. The night summer air is a bit refreshing against his skin, so he unbuttons his coat and lets it slide along his arm.  
  
They come across the Bethesda Terrace. Jongin takes out a quarter from his pocket and throws it to the fountain, the coin making a satisfying _plop_. Kyungsoo mimics him, flicking a quarter with his thumb.  
  
Jongin closes his eyes as he makes a wish. Kyungsoo keeps his open, content with just watching Jongin as he does.  
  
“Hyung,” Jongin says.  
  
Kyungsoo jumps back. Without all the usual car honking, Jongin’s voice is so loud in his ear. “Y-yeah?”  
  
Jongin’s eyelids flutter open. He arches his neck towards the meadow. “The deal,” he says. “Let’s talk about that.”  
  
“The deal?” Kyungsoo flexes his hand for a second over the coat on his arm. He waits until Jongin says something, but that seems to be it. “Er — okay. Let’s talk about it.”  
  
Jongin wastes no time. As soon as they’re lying down on the grass, he pipes up, “I still don’t get it.”  
  
“Okay. Which part?”  
  
“Are you kidding me?” Jongin glares at him. “All of it.”  
  
Kyungsoo stiffens. He crosses his arms over his chest. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I don’t… if it makes you feel any better, I don’t want us to be like this either. Seriously, Jongin, do you really think I don’t have any interest in you?” Jongin is still silent, and Kyungsoo sighs. “Come on. I might have been poking fun at how terribly romantic you are, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want us to be. You know. Like that.”  
  
Jongin scrunches his nose. “It’s frustrating,” he says. “I can’t take you out to dinners or let you meet my friends or kiss you in public. It’s fucking nuts, hyung. I want to kiss you wherever I want. I want to do all the stuff regular couples do.”  
  
_We’re not even a couple_ , Kyungsoo’s stupid brain supplies. “At least we’re not clandestine about the hand-holding.”  
  
Jongin blows a hot puff of air to Kyungsoo’s cheek. “I love you,” he says. “How the hell am I supposed to keep that a secret?”  
  
Kyungsoo shuffles, angling himself so he can face Jongin fully. “We have that covered, right? Absolutely no romantic stuff. We keep it quiet. Just for ourselves.” He chews on the side of his mouth, and says, “You know, I thought you’d be getting some thrill out of this. Like Mission Opus, with a couple of gay stuff sprinkled to it.”  
  
“I’m not getting it with the other guys, though,” Jongin says. “Maybe I’m just gay for you.”  
  
Kyungsoo laughs quietly, sadly. “That’s what Baekhyun said, too.”  
  
Jongin scowls at him, like he’s incensed at the comparison. “I’m not ever going to dump you for a girl, hyung, seriously. Or for anyone at all.”  
  
“Hey, calm down. I was the one who dumped Baek, remember? And whoops, that dumbass is still my friend,” Kyungsoo says. “Looks like we can’t have everything.”  
  
Jongin’s frown softens until it turns into a harmless pout. Kyungsoo’s torn between kissing him and petting him. “So no sex. No making out in public. No overtly romantic gestures until —”  
  
“No timetables, Jongin. This is indefinite,” Kyungsoo says.   
  
“But, hyung —”  
  
“Jongin,” Kyungsoo grates, losing his patience. “I’m already out, so who do you think I’m doing all this secrecy for?”  
  
Jongin looks… hurt, somehow, and Kyungsoo doesn’t get why that upset him. It’s already been established that Jongin’s got a lot more to lose if people find out that he swings differently.   
  
“Okay, fine. I get it now,” Jongin mumbles. He slowly gets to his feet and holds out his hand for Kyungsoo. “I’m hungry. Let’s go eat. That doesn’t count as a romantic gesture, right?”  
  
Kyungsoo frowns at the gritty defiance in Jongin’s tone. “I can get up on my own, thanks,” he says, but reaches out for Jongin’s hand, anyway. 

 

****

  
  
  
The diner isn’t that empty at this hour. There’s a family of six taking up the tables near the door, totally boisterous for one o’ clock in the morning. Kyungsoo hopes it won’t take that much energy to block all the noises out.  
  
The girl with a notepad and a gold and red uniform likes Jongin. It’s too obvious that Kyungsoo has to stop himself from snickering when Jongin orders the greasiest thing on the menu, and the girl just fawns all over the boy with her eyes.  
  
“What?” Jongin says, once the girl is out of earshot and Kyungsoo’s lungs feel like it’s about to burst from holding back. “What the hell, hyung?”  
  
“Nothing, nothing.”  
  
Kyungsoo can’t take it anymore when Jongin’s order arrives in an instant, smoking and absolutely unhealthy looking as it is on the pictures, and it took more than fifteen minutes for them to whip up Kyungsoo’s measly salad, of all things. He laughs after the girl goes back to her post once again.  
  
“What?” Jongin says, more demanding.  
  
Kyungsoo twists his fork. “You smiled at her.”  
  
“Oh my god,” Jongin says after he has finished chewing his beef. “Oh my god, hyung, I was being polite!”  
  
“I know you were,” Kyungsoo says. He surreptitiously jerks his head towards the register, where the girl is doing her best to make the counter squeaky-clean with a flimsy rag. He smiles and eats his tomatoes.  
  
“It’s not something I can turn off,” Jongin mumbles petulantly. “It’s not my fault my family raised me to be like this.”  
  
Kyungsoo glances at him. “Hey, I wasn’t saying it was a fault. Some people are just like that. Or brought up to be one, which isn’t surprising.” Sehun did a bit of a background check on Jongin’s family not so long ago, and as expected, they’re huge. The eldest daughter alone can make all the middle-class businessmen quiver just with her presence.  
  
“I wasn’t flirting,” Jongin insists, clearly annoyed, and his expression is so comical that Kyungsoo just outright laughs on his face.  
  
“For the last time, I wasn’t saying you were, okay?” Kyungsoo manages to say in between chuckles. The girl comes back to ask for their drinks. Her long, brown hair is now braided in an intricate fashion. Kyungsoo bites his tongue back to keep himself from laughing out loud again.

****

  
  
  
The morning starts with more of a drag than usual. Sweat accumulates and wets the waistband of Kyungsoo’s jeans as he helps Baekhyun clear out the dust bunnies underneath the bed. He scoffs when he finds an old underwear punctured with holes at the wrong spots, and tosses it to Baekhyun with a disgusted kick.  
  
“Taeyeon noona has enough sense not to room with you at least,” Kyungsoo says as Baekhyun smirks at him impishly.   
  
“She doesn’t like a room with windows, not like me. She says she feels exposed,” Baekhyun responds. It takes them three tries before they get the vacuum to start working, which coughs the dirt out first before it gets to suctioning, much to their frustration. Kyungsoo wishes he brought his own cleaning equipment.   
  
“You’re okay with sleeping in separate bedrooms?”  
  
“Mhmm. Adds to the tension, you know? That’s why the sex is so explosive.”  
  
Kyungsoo punches his arm. “Yah. I didn’t need to know that, jerk,” he says and Baekhyun snickers.  
  
They start moving the desks, pushing it against the opposite end of the wall. Kyungsoo drives the vacuum towards the corner, the brush licking the gold-brown spots that tarnish the pale green walls. He then crouches down and wipes the underside of the tables with a wet towel.  
  
“I talked to her parents again,” Baekhyun says suddenly.  
  
Kyungsoo snaps his head towards him.   
  
Baekhyun pulls at the ends of his blanket, and won’t look at him. “They don’t — they still don’t think I’m the right guy for her.”  
  
Kyungsoo takes in the bow of Baekhyun’s shoulders. The other man keeps on busying his hands, keeping his gaze locked on everything else. Kyungsoo instinctively knows that this, this has been eating Baekhyun for a long time. “And?”  
  
The lines around Baekhyun’s mouth grows hard, heavy. “They’re fine with me proposing to her, but…” Baekhyun trails off. “It’s not like she’s going to say yes.”  
  
“She will,” Kyungsoo says. He stands up straight and turns the vacuum off. It’ll probably take him an hour to restart it but he’ll take his chances. “Baekhyun, have you seen the way she looks at you?” The question leaves a bad taste in Kyungsoo’s mouth after he utters it, but he continues, “Taeyeon noona loves you.”  
  
Baekhyun shrugs. “That’s not the only thing there is to marriage,” he says. “Love.”  
  
“Maybe,” Kyungsoo says darkly. “… I don’t know.” He sighs. “You should’ve asked Baekbeom hyung before. About him and Yuri noona.”  
  
Baekhyun eats the inside of his cheek. “They were high school sweethearts,” he says. “Taeyeon and I started dating only two years ago and – and I’m supposed to promise her an  _eternity_  —”  
  
“Are you giving yourself excuses not to ask her?” Kyungsoo interrupts. “That’s a douchebag-y thing to do, Baekhyun. Very douchebag-y.”  
  
Baekhyun sighs and hangs his head low. “You don’t get it,” he groans and faceplants on the mattress. The bed sheets are still soiled. “I want her, Kyungsoo.”  
  
“Yeah. That’s why you’re asking her to marry you.”  
  
“But they’re right. I don’t deserve her.” Baekhyun’s voice is muffled by the pillow, and when he looks up, the rim of his eyes is startlingly red. “She’s Kim Taeyeon, and I’m just Byun Baekhyun. I’m a fool for even thinking that I’d fit in with her.”  
  
Kyungsoo feels that ancient ache in his heart bubbling up, and he pokes at his sternum. Back in college, Baekhyun used to cry in front of him while they were surrounded by empty bottles of beer. About his mother’s health. His father’s betrayal. His failed relationships with a string of girlfriends and boyfriends. But they’re both sober now, and they’ve both grown old in more ways than one. “Do you think Taeyeon noona ever thinks about that? Lighten up, will you?”  
  
“I’m going to drag her down,” Baekhyun says, sounding a lot like he’s talking to himself. “She’s not going to get her Ph.D. because of me. Because I’d bug her. I’d keep on bugging her until she’d stop, because I want her to pay attention only to me. Living with me would be hell, because I’d be too jealous that she’s doing something with her life while I’m stuck in the same place, drinking the same tequila, singing the same fucking love songs in bars, never moving forward.” His voice is thick as he talks, and tears start spluttering everywhere from his too red eyes.  
  
Kyungsoo sits next to him, and Baekhyun cries even harder. It’s been years since college, and Kyungsoo doesn’t know where to place himself.   
  
“I love her,” Baekhyun chokes. He grips on the end of Kyungsoo’s shirt. “I really love her. But other than wanting to be with her, I don’t know how to love her. I don’t know. I don’t know.”  
  
Kyungsoo closes his eyes tight. “I don’t know either,” he murmurs, because there are a lot of things Kyungsoo wants to say, like  _I’m not sure what it is that I want in my life too, and I know I’m doing the right thing, but I always feel like I’m making a big mistake, and I don’t know how to love Jongin either, and why does it feel like I’m never allowed to be happy again?_  “But you said it yourself that you and Taeyeon noona don’t have any ‘romance problems’. Don’t start now.”  
  
“This isn’t romance, Kyungsoo,” Baekhyun says. “This is life, slapping me on the face with a shovel.”  
  
“I want to slap you with this dirty rag on my hand here, but I won’t,” Kyungsoo says. He places an awkward arm around Baekhyun’s quivering shoulders. “Look, I think you should still ask her. Noona’s smart. She knew what kind of trouble she’d get into when you asked her out for the first time. If she says yes again, then it’s her choice. Her decision. What happens next… that’ll be a problem for another day.” Kyungsoo wets his lips with his tongue. “Besides, if you’re so into her, aren’t you going to try to be the best man for her? For her life? Isn’t that the whole point of marriage?”  
  
Baekhyun shakes his head. “I’ll never be the best,” he says, the morning light streaming from the open windows illuminating the bags under his eyes. For a split second, Kyungsoo doesn’t recognize this Baekhyun. The torrent of uncertainty streaming underneath is not familiar. Baekhyun has always been the confident one.  
  
Kyungsoo exhales through his nose. “Then I don’t know what I should say anymore. Maybe you should return the ring to the jeweler’s.”  
  
“Maybe I should.”  
  
That isn’t supposed to be Baekhyun’s answer, so Kyungsoo whacks his thigh with the towel. It leaves a blooming, red mark, long and thick. It probably stings. “Snap out of it, Baekhyun!” Kyungsoo says, exasperated. “What’s going on with you? You’re always the happiest when you’re with her. You’re not supposed to give up so easily, so stop acting so dumb. Don’t doubt yourself, and most of all don’t doubt noona.”  
  
Baekhyun makes a kittenish whine as he rubs his thigh. At least he’s not crying anymore. He’s quiet for a while, and then he says, “I’ll ask her, but I’m not sure. That’s it. I don’t know where to go from there.”  
  
“Move out,” Kyungsoo intones. “Wasn’t that the plan? Leave New York City after noona finishes her MS.”  
  
“And move to another city? Like Los Angeles? Taeyeon wants to study in UCLA,” Baekhyun mumbles dejectedly. “I’ve always hated cities. I feel like an alien.”  
  
“You’re too chatty for an alien, and you’ve always fit in better than I did,” Kyungsoo says, and Baekhyun chuckles.  
  
“I’ve lived here longer than you have. Of course it seems that I fit in better,” Baekhyun tells him. He drops his head on Kyungsoo’s lap. “I’m having a midlife crisis at twenty-nine.” He then laughs. “This sucks.”  
  
Kyungsoo pulls his bangs away from his eyes. “After that Ph.D., maybe you can convince noona to move back with you to Korea. Show her your hometown.”  
  
“Her family’s here. I can’t do that.”  
  
“You two would be married by then. It’s not like it matters.”  
  
“I’m not like you, Kyungsoo. If it’s possible, I want to please everybody,” Baekhyun says, his tone rather sad. “That includes her parents, obviously. And she’d miss them. Of course she’d miss them.”  
  
“But what about you?” Kyungsoo wonders out loud. His legs have gone numb, but he won’t remove Baekhyun’s head from his lap. “What about you, Baekhyun?”  
  
Baekhyun chuckles one more time as a response, and it cracks from start to finish. Kyungsoo’s heard a happy laugh, an embarrassed laugh, an angry laugh. This is his first time to hear a heartbroken laugh from the other man. Kyungsoo pats Baekhyun’s head softly, even though he knows that it’s not much comfort.  
  
“Don’t laugh anymore. Or talk. Your jobs are starting to wear your voice down so bad,” Kyungsoo orders.   
  
“Then it’s going to be really quiet,” Baekhyun says, and Kyungsoo puts a palm over his mouth to shush him.  
  
Kyungsoo scratches his nose, thinking, before he opens his mouth and starts to sing, filling in the silence for them.   
  
Baekhyun closes his eyes, and he almost looks like a sleeping child with the small smile tugging his thin lips upward. Kyungsoo wipes the tear streaks away with his thumb and raises his voice a bit higher, singing with the same volition he has when he’s all alone in the apartment, when he’s sure no one can hear him.   
  
Baekhyun’s eyelids flutter. “What am I going to do without my best friend, Kyungsoo?”  
  
Something inside Kyungsoo sloshes like soju, and he boxes Baekhyun’s ear. “Stop talking, or do you want me to stop singing?”  
  
Baekhyun sniggers and huddles closer. “No. Sing  _Expectation_  for me. I remember you always sang that in noraebangs.”  
  
Kyungsoo hasn’t been to a noraebang in six years, but he doesn’t want to think about that. He shucks that thought in the deepest recess of his mind once again, and starts a new melody.

 

  
****

  
  
  
There are loud, urgent knocks at the door. Kyungsoo knows it’s not the landlady, because there are more than three knocks, so he swivels the knob open and answers the door in only a shirt and boxers.  
  
Kyungsoo’s surprised to find Jongin in front of him, chest rising and falling erratically as he cups his knees with his hands. Kyungsoo looks at his wrist watch. Jongin isn’t supposed to be back yet from school.   
  
“Hyung —” Jongin rasps. “Hyung… Kyungsoo hyung…”  
  
“A-are you okay?” Kyungsoo says, startled. “What are you doing here? Did you skip —”  
  
Heaving, Jongin thrusts a purple colored periodical at him. Kyungsoo, for some stupid reason, notices first that Jongin’s arm is coated in sweat, before he looks at the front page.  
  
_The Cave_ , Kyungsoo reads the topmost line, black and bold. What an obscure title. His eyes move down, and he gasps as he stares at the words in shock.  
  
Kyungsoo grabs the journal and reads the name again and again, making sure.  _Kim Jongin. Kim Jongin. Kim Jongin_. He looks up, looks at the page, looks at Jongin catching his breath, then looks at the page again. It still says  _Kim Jongin_  no matter what he does.   
  
“You got published,” Kyungsoo says softly to the air. The  _West 10th_ journal smells like fresh ink from the printing press. “Jongin, you got published.”  
  
Jongin’s eyes shine. “You’re so surprised,” he says. “Should I be offended?”  
  
“No. No, no,” Kyungsoo replies, voice thick with amazement. “I just thought we’d have to wait until July for you to…”  
  
“They gave me a copy of the draft,” Jongin says. “Still good as the real deal, right?”  
  
_No kidding._  Kyungsoo rereads the page again. “Wow, Jongin.  _Wow._ ” He’s out of words. “This is… this is unreal. This is —”  
  
Something hot and dry presses on Kyungsoo’s lips, and it takes a moment for his brain to register that Jongin is kissing him, slamming the door shut behind him and pushing Kyungsoo back against the wall. Jongin bites Kyungsoo’s lower lip roughly, painfully, and it makes Kyungsoo moan the loudest he’s ever had in his whole life.  
  
“W-wait,” Kyungsoo says through the fog in his head as Jongin moves to assault the thick column of his neck instead. He needs the tiny voice of rationality inside him to speak up before it gets buried completely. “Jongin, our truce! What about our truce?”  
  
“Can we break our truce just this once?” Jongin whispers heatedly to Kyungsoo’s ear. His mouth peppers Kyungsoo’s sideburns with obscenely wet kisses. “I’m so happy. I’m so fucking happy. I feel like I’m going to burst.”  
  
Kyungsoo nicks the skin just over the boundary of Jongin’s collarbone, right in the dip of it, and Jongin writhes under his hands. The small of Kyungsoo’s back aches at the protrusion of the doorframe pressing against it, but he’s not about to move. “Once?”  
  
“Make it five,” Jongin wheezes. His bulky hand presses against the front of Kyungsoo’s boxers.   
  
“Okay,” Kyungsoo says. Rationality disappears as soon as Jongin sheds his polo shirt and dumps it on the floor. He feels a hiccup coming, so he kisses Jongin again to hold it back.  
  
Jongin groans when Kyungsoo’s fingers start digging on his navel, and he ruts, almost painfully, against Kyungsoo’s crotch. “Sorry,” he says at his eagerness. “I’m so greedy.”  
  
It’s not the most romantic thing Kyungsoo’s ever heard, but it makes the tips of his ears flush a bright pink. Jongin is exhaling harshly against his charged skin, kissing the length of Kyungsoo’s jaw as his hips slam urgently against the other man.  
  
“Your room?” Kyungsoo lets out, sweat dripping from his brow.  
  
“Okay,” Jongin says. He latches onto Kyungsoo’s narrow hips and guides him towards the bedroom, and his breath stutters as he trails his lips against the dip of Kyungsoo’s collar. Jongin’s fingers are rough against the skin of his waist.  
  
Kyungsoo plops himself on the mattress, and Jongin immediately sinks to him, pressing his hips and grinding. The ferocity should scare Kyungsoo, except his own hips slam up to meet Jongin’s with equal force, and it’s enough to send Kyungsoo into a feverish high that he’s sure he’s never felt before. It’s a dangerous, dangerous territory, and it breaks more than eight lines of the fine print on their No Romantic Relationship Whatsoever agreement. But then Jongin’s lips are on Kyungsoo’s again, and the hesitation melts once more like butter laid out in a summer’s day.  
  
Jongin pulls back, and Kyungsoo watches the way his bangs cling to his wet forehead. He looks so nice like this, with his lips puffy and abused by Kyungsoo’s mouth and teeth, and something massive wells up at Kyungsoo’s chest all of a sudden.  
  
“Congrats on getting published,” Kyungsoo says instead of that other sentence that almost escapes from his throat. “Always knew you could do it.”  
  
Jongin makes a small whine when Kyungsoo’s fingers tug at his hair. Their hips connect again, and they both let out a loud, guttural sound that can surely be heard downstairs. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”   
  
Jongin scrambles with the waistband of Kyungsoo’s boxers. The younger male instantly undresses him from the waist down, and Kyungsoo feels this momentary flash of self-consciousness until Jongin nuzzles his cheek at the base of Kyungsoo’s half-raised cock. He licks at the reddening girth, and Kyungsoo goes absolutely wrecked, gasping loudly.  
  
“Take your jeans off,” Kyungsoo says. His dick is twitching hard under Jongin’s teasing lips.  
  
Jongin obliges, chuckling. It takes some work, with the denim hugging his thighs and the prominent bulge on his groin. Jongin sheds and dumps them away from the bed, and goes back to his mission of fondling and mouthing the underside of Kyungsoo’s vivid-red cock. The scent of arousal and pleasure sinks deep, and it almost chokes Kyungsoo when he reverses their positions and leans in on Jongin’s nakedness, but he forges on.  
  
Kyungsoo decides to experiment. He studies Jongin’s expressions carefully, threading his fingers on the inside of Jongin’s thighs, waiting to see if there’s a specific place where he likes to be touched. Jongin seems to like it better when Kyungsoo’s got his plump lips around the crown of Jongin’s leaking dick while his hands press hard on Jongin’s knees, spreading the younger man apart. So he keeps at it, and Jongin’s hips gyrate in plea, hoping for relief.  
  
“Would you like that?” Kyungsoo asks the unspoken question. He keeps his voice low to minimize his panting.  
  
Jongin’s face reddens even more as he closes his eyes tightly. “Please,” he whispers.  
  
Kyungsoo steels his stomach – blowjobs are a new playing field for him, but Jongin looks too happy and blissed out, and it would probably be great to make him even more of a mess, so he coats his lips with thick saliva and takes him in deeper. Kyungsoo has to admit that he’s always wanted to taste Jongin like this, anyway.  
  
Kyungsoo stretches his mouth to accommodate Jongin. Jongin tastes… really strong and Kyungsoo unconsciously licks the dribbling liquid, like he can’t get enough. Jongin makes a strangled, “Oh, god”, from above him, twitching horribly under Kyungsoo’s palms, and Kyungsoo ventures again with this new feeling in his gut.  
  
He takes in more of Jongin’s length, and it surprises him that his mouth already feels sore when he’s only bobbed up and down a few times. Jongin looks like he’s trying his best not to fuck Kyungsoo’s mouth. Kyungsoo watches Jongin from below, and his own dick grows hard at the trickle of drool escaping from Jongin’s wide open mouth.  
  
There’s a small, rough bump in Jongin’s cock that Kyungsoo strangely likes, and he doesn’t realize that he’s been flicking the tip of his tongue against it until Jongin says, “Don’t… hyung, stop that. Holy fuck. I’m going to —” His whole face wrinkles. “I’m going too close… let’s not…”  
  
Kyungsoo unsheathes Jongin’s cock, his lips making this weird sucking sound when he lets go. Jongin doesn’t waste any time and presses his mouth on Kyungsoo’s. Jongin’s tongue swirls inside him, and this type of Jongin tastes familiar, and it’s just as intoxicating as the cum sitting at the back of his throat.  
  
“I don’t get why you’re so sexy to me,” Jongin confesses as he licks off the stripe of cum at the roof of Kyungsoo’s upper lip. He sounds adorably frustrated. “Tao never agreed with me.”  
  
“You talk to your friend about me… like that?”  
  
“Yeah.” Another lick, and Kyungsoo can almost sense himself blacking out. Too much of his skin is tingling. “When we first met in this building, your hair was wet from the shower. It was so black and nice. I wanted my fingers all over it.” Jongin presses their lips again before breaking away. “I asked Tao after… if he felt something like that with his boyfriend.”  
  
Jongin’s fingers start swarming the flat of Kyungsoo’s stomach, going low. Kyungsoo’s hips ram the side of Jongin’s right thigh in response, and he groans in both pleasure and embarrassment. He’s too sensitive today. “He’s right. Tao, your friend. I’m not sexy,” Kyungsoo says. Just by looking at them right now, Jongin is sexy. And Kyungsoo is… “You’re really just plain weird.”  
  
Jongin’s eyes flash with something unreadable, and he sucks on Kyungsoo’s abdomen, scraping his teeth at the slick skin, leaving a big, red mark. Jongin smirks at him and at his own work, and Kyungsoo’s brain short circuits.   
  
“Okay. That means that I’ll have to make you feel really good,” Jongin says. His fingers close around Kyungsoo’s cock. “So that you’ll feel sexy.”  
  
“You don’t have to do that,” Kyungsoo says in a small voice. Jongin laughs, a deep, throaty one.  
  
The bridge of Jongin’s nose starts trailing down to the fine line of hair that leads to Kyungsoo’s opening. “I want to take you,” Jongin says, confident. “You’re too gentle. I want to make you feel thoroughly fucked for our first time so it’ll be memorable.”  
  
Not a romantic line again, but it succeeds in making Kyungsoo flustered from head to toe. “Are you even prepared?”  
  
“I have lube. Condoms too.” Kyungsoo’s eyes widen at this, and Jongin laughs even harder. “What? You asked.”  
  
“Yeah. Yeah, I did.” Jongin quickly maneuvers his way from the sheets to open his cabinet. He strains a bit with opening the foil packet, so they break it open together, and Kyungsoo helps roll it down Jongin’s member with a small thrust.   
  
Kyungsoo lies completely down as Jongin finishes with slicking up the latex. Jongin connects their mouths again, and Kyungsoo can taste and smell the anticipation and the slight hint of worry rolling off from him. Kyungsoo probably looks awkward at this angle. “You haven’t bottomed before, have you?” Jongin asks, and Kyungsoo nods.  
  
“I like to do most of the work,” Kyungsoo admits, and Jongin unmistakably  _growls_  at him, much to his confusion.  
  
“No surprises there,” Jongin mutters hotly. He coats Kyungsoo’s entrance with a lot of lube. “Always in charge. Fucking sexy.”  
  
Well, Kyungsoo’s definitely not in charge this time. Jongin massages Kyungsoo’s legs before draping it around his waist, their cocks aligning against each other. Jongin strokes Kyungsoo a couple of times before he pushes a finger inside Kyungsoo’s hole without warning. Kyungsoo cries out more in surprise than in pain.  
  
It’s uncomfortable at first, but Jongin is deft and quick, stretching out the tight ring of muscle and constantly stroking Kyungsoo to take his mind off from the occasional sting. Jongin discerns when Kyungsoo’s ready to take in the second finger, and the third, and he instantly pushes them inside so that Kyungsoo won’t notice it much.  
  
Jongin’s middle finger grazes something inside Kyungsoo, something that feels  _awfully nice_  when it’s touched. Kyungsoo hoists himself a little and pats Jongin’s arm. “T-that one,” he rasps urgently. “Hit that one again.”  
  
“This one?” Jongin says, and then he fucking  _jabs_  it with his long finger, and Kyungsoo’s eyes roll back in a sudden flame of torture and pleasure.   
  
Kyungsoo eats his lower lip to restrain himself from screaming when Jongin does it again and again. He’s sure he’s not supposed to come with only Jongin’s fingers pumping in and out of him. That would be humiliating.  
  
Jongin seems to sense this and pulls out. Kyungsoo’s insides wail at the loss of stimulation. “Do you want it, hyung?” he says.  
  
Kyungsoo, with his lips parted, nods again, perhaps a bit vigorously. Jongin mumbles another stream of swearwords as he kisses the globules of sweat on Kyungsoo’s chest.  
  
Kyungsoo guides Jongin’s hands to his waist, and Jongin takes it as a signal to push in. The penetration stings at first, until it hurts really bad and Kyungsoo’s eyes water, because Jongin’s fingers are not as round and thick and hot as his dick. “I’m sorry!” Jongin yelps, but Kyungsoo shushes him.  
  
“I’m not a baby,” Kyungsoo says. “Ease up.”  
  
Jongin’s breathing goes uneven as he pulls out and strikes again. He still hasn’t hit that spot Kyungsoo likes, but the roughness of it chases away the pain a little. “Tell me when it feels good,” Jongin says, and angles and thrusts his hips once more.  
  
It’s hard, being pumped with one hand and being ripped open by another. Kyungsoo’s senses are overloading, and he’s panting aggressively at Jongin’s earlobe. Jongin isn’t fairing any better as he slides his shaft in and out, in and out, with a sickeningly fast pace. Kyungsoo can feel the wild thrumming of Jongin’s pulse underneath his palm, and Kyungsoo sucks on it hard, having nothing to do with his mouth.  
  
“Fuck…” Jongin grates with a long moan. The tangy smell of his sweat and lust cloys on Kyungsoo’s bare skin as Jongin rams into him.   
  
Kyungsoo whimpers when Jongin finally hits it. He grunts. “Yes, god. Right there. That feels good.”   
  
Jongin looks down at him with a grin. “You like it?” Kyungsoo’s answering “Holy shit!” when he thrusts harder has Jongin chortling.  
  
“T-That’s really good,” Kyungsoo gasps when Jongin swiftly takes him from another angle and hits that thing inside him with magnifying pressure, the tension in his groin wanting to break free.   
  
Jongin keeps on jacking him off, faster than before, and he keeps on muttering incomprehensible phrases on Kyungsoo’s ear like he’s lost it.   
  
“I think I’m going, Jongin…”  
  
“I’m close too,” Jongin responds.   
  
Kyungsoo relishes in the way Jongin stares at him, and Kyungsoo holds his gaze for as long as he can. He’s not as skilled as Jongin is with his body, so Kyungsoo settles with pining him down with a look, letting him see every emotion, every desire. Everything. Jongin starts shuddering and releases soon after, very loudly, and Kyungsoo can feel the warm liquid pooling in the condom inside of his aching hole.  
  
Kyungsoo also comes after a while, much less explosive than Jongin’s but just as terrible, and he becomes a withering mess between Jongin’s strong arms. His junk spreads and cools on Jongin’s hand and his stomach.   
  
Jongin pulls back. He takes off the used condom and ties it at the end, his cheeks pink and his fingers sticky, before dumping it on the navy blue trash can Kyungsoo had put up for him months ago near his nightstand.   
  
He returns to bed and lands on top of Kyungsoo, whining and nuzzling Kyungsoo’s neck again, content. “I did great, right?” He doesn’t look at Kyungsoo, but the way his lips are pressed against the elder’s skin has Kyungsoo guessing that he’s smiling.  
  
Kyungsoo traces the bumps of Jongin’s spine. “You did,” he says.  
  
Jongin moves to kiss Kyungsoo’s forehead. It’s too hot. “Does that mean we can do this another time?” he says, a bit hesitant. “You said so.”  
  
“I’m tired. Let’s talk about this later when we’ve slept —”  
  
“Five times, right?” Jongin cuts in. “One down, four more. You even agreed to it.”  
  
Kyungsoo licks his lips and presses his side against Jongin’s back. Jongin tastes and feels absurdly delicious. It’s overwhelming. “Okay,” he says, rewriting their truce again.   
  
“Really?”  
  
“Yeah.” Kyungsoo shrugs. “Save the four for a rainy day. We’re almost out of time.”  
  
Jongin cranes his neck towards him. He frowns visibly. “You always say that. Don’t… please don’t think about that.”  
  
“It’s unavoidable.” Kyungsoo aligns his gaze towards the ceiling. “Let’s just say I’m planning things ahead.”  
  
“Can you?” Jongin says mutedly. His lips quiver, and his grip on Kyungsoo’s hand goes limp. “Can you plan something like this?”  
  
Kyungsoo sighs. His eyelids are weighing down on him in exhaustion, but he doesn’t want the conversation to end just yet. There’s a ruckus in his head that won’t quiet down. “I finished the book,” he says, diverting the discussion elsewhere. “It was great, and by that I mean I’m not questioning your tastes anymore.”  
  
But Jongin’s not laughing. A minute passes. “Are you scared?”  
  
“What?”  
  
“About the ending,” he says quietly. “Our ending won’t be a sad one, hyung.”  
  
_You’re getting it all wrong_ , Kyungsoo sighs in his head. “In the realm of probability, a sad ending isn’t impossible, Jongin-ah,” is what he replies after a while. “Everything’s going as planned, though. I mean, look. You’re getting published. You’re going to graduate and be a children’s writer. You’re a few steps closer to the finish line already.”  
  
“I’m not going to step on that finish line without you,” Jongin murmurs to his ear. “The festival is going to love your movie. You’ll make up with your brother. Everything will be fine. It’ll be perfect for both of us. You and me. Just picture it, hyung.”   
  
Kyungsoo doesn’t look at him, but he can see Jongin smiling the tiniest smile, one corner of his mouth lifting up in a picture of content and sincerity. It leaves Kyungsoo with a smidgen of happiness that he’ll get to cherish when all this is over, once he’s all alone again.   
  
“I’m still working at it,” Kyungsoo says. “I’m trying not to hold back as much, but like I said, you shouldn’t wait.” He fills in the gaps in Jongin’s hands with his fingers. It was also like this in that bicycle place. Not perfect, but their hands fit, still.  
  
Jongin blinks. His eyes trail after Kyungsoo a bit critically, but it soon softens as the seconds pass. “Sometimes, I look at you and I get confused and nervous. I don’t understand why, though,” he says, and then kisses Kyungsoo full on the lips, running away with Kyungsoo’s breath again. When he resurfaces, his dark brown irises are a bit glazed. “But most of the time I just want to kiss you.”  
  
“Who told you to talk all mushy like that?” Kyungsoo says, running a hand through his hair. He strokes Jongin’s hair too, and he loves it when Jongin fully leans onto him so he can touch him more.   
  
“I like it,” Jongin says, “That you don’t really get pissed at me.” He places a thumb over Kyungsoo’s bottom lip. “You only get embarrassed, and you smile even more. I really like it when you smile.”  
  
Kyungsoo’s not oblivious to that. He’s read the poems, the tiny notes all over the kitchen cabinets and the refrigerators. “Same goes, I guess,” he mutters in exchange. He likes it too, when Jongin smiles.  
  
Jongin slowly wraps an arm around Kyungsoo’s waist and deposits his nose on Kyungsoo’s shoulder. He laughs good-naturedly, and his breath tickles. “Getting you to tell me you love me is like pulling out teeth.”   
  
Kyungsoo’s face heats up, and he pulls Jongin’s bangs in a silent attack.   
  
Jongin lets their cheeks brush when he slides up to look at him. “But you do, right?”  
  
Kyungsoo laughs, a bit huskily, at the almost expectant expression on Jongin’s face. “I don’t have to tell you every time,” he says. “My feelings haven’t changed.”  
  
“Well, I feel like I’m falling for you even deeper.” Jongin grins wide. “And that’s almost impossible.”  
  
“Stop,” Kyungsoo says. He’s not sure if he’s talking to Jongin or his own heart, which is starting to break out of his ribcage with all that thumping. “Let’s talk later. Get some rest.” He squeezes Jongin’s hand tightly. “Congrats again. I’ll read your story when I wake up.”  
  
“Read it when I’m not here,” Jongin mumbles. He gets clingy again. It feels slightly disgusting, with the sweat and cum on their bodies, but Kyungsoo doesn’t move away. “Love you, hyung.”  
  
Kyungsoo begins to nod off. He contemplates for a while, and then says, “Love you too, Jongin.”

****

  
  
  
Kindness and love are two very different things.  
  
Related, maybe, but it’s like asking for chocolate chip cookies and getting cinnamon ones instead. Both taste nice, and they probably come from the same mold, but each person has a preference, ultimately.  
  
Kyungsoo first realized the difference when he was seventeen, when he noticed the way the class representative Hyunsik smiled whenever Kyungsoo took the seat next to him. He also noticed the way Hyunsik would whisper the correct answer to him whenever he got caught daydreaming in the middle of class.   
  
And most of all, Kyungsoo noticed the way his thoughts would always race towards that awful, graphic turn — instead of a solution to a complex geometry problem, he realized that he wanted Hyunsik to whisper his name to his ear, preferably in a dark room, with no pants on.   
  
That last part is probably close to lust more than love, but it grew, really grew, and Kyungsoo found himself pining for strange things every time Hyunsik offered a seat next to him at the lunch table, and every time Hyunsik offered his home as a hiding place for when Kyungsoo’s neighbor Minah got absolutely clingy and ferocious at him. At seventeen, then at eighteen, Kyungsoo didn’t really understand why he wanted something different from Hyunsik, something other than kindness. He didn’t want to tell anyone either. People would laugh at him.  
  
He didn’t get to think about his skewered feelings soon after, when Kyungsoo’s parents told him at dinner, one day, that they’d be moving to New York City for some job offer Kyungsoo hardly cared about.   
  
It was more than a relief — Kyungsoo knew all about the American Dream, heard stories all about it. He thought he’d be saved, somehow, from this stirring inside of him.  
  
On his third year of college, his mother died. Got a call from the ambulance first, and then from Seungsoo and his dad. A boy from the dorm room at the other end of the hall had been kind enough to suck Kyungsoo off to keep his mind away from the misery. It helped at first.  
  
And now, as he steps out of the gates and sees his bike seat again wrapped in plastic – Kyungsoo knows that kindness and love are not interchangeable, but that they’ll always come together, hand in hand. Or at least, it seems that they’ve made a pact to wreck Kyungsoo’s life together in all the craziest ways possible.   
  
_First summer rain!!!! I hope you’re not grumpy about the weather today :) – Jongin_  
  
Kyungsoo smiles wide enough to make his cheeks ache, and his heart feels all tingly and stuff, just like always. He wipes an indignant hand over his face, after, to keep up some semblance of normality. Jongin is too fucking adorable for his own good.  
  
He folds it neatly into a square and deposits it in his wallet. He neatly rips the plastic sheath and pedals. 

****

  
  
  
The ice chinks in the glass as it slides over to his side. Kyungsoo glowers at it. “Give me something stronger!” he yells at Yixing. It’s a testament to their years of friendship that Kyungsoo doesn’t deck him when Yixing chortles in his face.  
  
“Why should I? You almost got ran over the last time you came here,” Yixing says. His uniform doesn’t have any creases on the collars or at the cuffs, and Kyungsoo knows Yixing always had trouble with ironing, back when they were roommates in university.  
  
“Girlfriend?” Kyungsoo surmises, jutting his chin out, and Yixing grins at him.  
  
“If only you’d pay as much attention to yourself.” Yixing sniggers, and finally gives Kyungsoo the whiskey he’s been asking for. “Her name’s Carly. From Lexington.”  
  
Kyungsoo hisses in satisfaction after he’s taken a long sip. “American?”  
  
“Nope. Canadian.” Yixing waggles his eyebrows. “Want to meet her?”  
  
Kyungsoo snorts. “Pass,” he says. “I’m sure she’s great.” She’s Canadian — probably very thoughtful or very polite or very nice or a mixture of all those things. All the ridiculously sweet stuff, like maple syrup. Definitely Yixing’s type.  
  
Yixing beams at him. “This is why you’re my favorite dongsaeng!” he coos. “I’m rather sad, though, since we hardly hang out anymore besides you coming here for a drink or two.”  
  
“Oh, you know. Work,” Kyungsoo says, nonchalant. He averts his eyes towards the many pictures of hockey players on the walls, and the little niche at the end of the room where the customers hang their selcas with colorful yarn provided by the management.  
  
Yixing hums in understanding. “I heard it’s finished. The film. Is it any good?” Kyungsoo throws him a look, and Yixing chuckles. “Just wondering if it’s worth paying three dollars for.”  
  
“I’m still waiting for a call from the panel,” Kyungsoo says. “If they give me a yes, then… I don’t know, hyung. It’s my film. I’m not supposed to be selling it to you.”  
  
“Why? Because I’m your friend?” Yixing says. A man in a suit whistles for a bourbon, and Yixing complies in a second. He wipes his palms with a dish towel. “That’s why I’m asking if it’s good. I’d be watching it for the quality, not because I know you.”  
  
Kyungsoo pulls a face as his cheeks redden. “Don’t expect much. I’m not exactly a real filmmaker.”  
  
“Let’s just wait for that call,” Yixing says serenely. He pours Kyungsoo another drink. “Tell me if it’s a thumbs up.”  
  
“Alright,” Kyungsoo answers. He watches Yixing go to the other end of the counter, where he attends to a lady in a cashmere sweater, even if it’s a couple degrees hot inside the bar. He drinks his glass empty until his throat feels drier than before.

****

  
  
  
“Where’s Jongin?” Baekhyun says. His pants are studded with holes at the ends. He looks better than the last time Kyungsoo saw him, which is saying a lot. Baekhyun had always been a horrific crier. “I thought he’d be home. It’s the weekend.”  
  
Kyungsoo pours him lemonade. Earlier, Jongin had snagged a piece of toast for breakfast and smashed his lips on Kyungsoo’s cheek before disappearing out the door. No morning couplets on the refrigerator today. “Finals.”  
  
Baekhyun makes a knowing sound. “Remember how that was for us?” He cackles.   
  
Kyungsoo does remember. All those nights of studying—in Baekhyun’s case, watching old news broadcasts and porn—had been quite memorable ones, even if Kyungsoo wasn’t much of a fan of staying up late balancing fifty spreadsheets.   
  
“I really like having Jongin around,” Baekhyun says. “Reminds me of my sparkling youth.”  
  
Kyungsoo cracks a smile. “Sounds like you’re already proclaiming yourself old, Byun Baekhyun.”  
  
“Not as old as you. You were already ninety when were twenty-one,” Baekhyun shoots back. “And what does that make you now?”  
  
“Ninety-eight,” Kyungsoo says immediately and laughs. “Nice to know you’re still shit at kindergarten math. Some things never change.”  
  
“I don’t need math,” Baekhyun says, expression smug. He keeps on eyeing the doodle on the kitchen table, the one Jongin scribbled the night before on a napkin from their take-out dinner. His grin grows predatory when he finally notices that the drawing looks a lot like Kyungsoo. “I’m still good-looking without math.”  
  
Kyungsoo rolls his eyes emphatically. “Did you come here to whine about Sehun and Chanyeol being disgustingly in love or what?”  
  
“Now that you mention it, I did see them getting it on last night in Sunyoung’s apartment. You left early to meet up with Junmyeon hyung and didn’t get to witness the after-party.”  
  
“How nice,” Kyungsoo says dryly. He waits for Baekhyun to finish drinking his lemonade before he puts the empty pitcher and the glass in the sink. He’ll wash it later when Baekhyun’s gone. “I’m almost regretting setting those two up.” He sits on the couch beside his friend, cross-legged.  
  
“You’re just jealous you and Jongin don’t have the guts to do it in public,” Baekhyun says, earning a glare from Kyungsoo. He rattles on, unfazed, “Rich kids who have awesome families and an even awesome-r future – must be hard to keep up. All that reputation to uphold.”  
  
Kyungsoo sighs. He could still see the outline of Junmyeon’s black eye when they met up in 8th, even if it was already healed. It’s like it had been imprinted on the back of Kyungsoo’s mind, a harsh foreboding. “People talk a lot here,” he says. “About that stuff. I thought that was only in Korea.”  
  
“Aren’t you glad we never got to that phase?”   
  
“Well, if you really want to know why, it’s because you’re not rich and you’re not talented and you don’t want to be a famous writer.” Kyungsoo wonders if Baekhyun’s father had punched him too when Baekhyun told his parents that he liked Kyungsoo enough to date him. “No reputation to uphold there.”  
  
Baekhyun laughs. “The penguin bites,” he says.  
  
Kyungsoo kicks his thigh. “Quit stalling,” he says. “What’s up with you dropping by unannounced?”  
  
Baekhyun’s long fingers are jittery. He plays with the loose thread on the couch until it snaps and disappears. “I asked her,” he says. “Taeyeon. I asked her.”  
  
Kyungsoo inches closer. “Well? What did she say?”  
  
Baekhyun smiles so big his eyes disappear without a trace. “She said yes, of course.” He runs a hand through his hair for show. “Said yes as soon as she saw the ring. I’m so hot. I’m  _sizzling_.”  
  
“You should’ve seen yourself slobbering last week.” Kyungsoo can feel himself grinning as wide as Baekhyun is. “Forget sizzling. You’re a big drama queen, Baek. I had to comfort you and it was all for nothing.”  
  
Baekhyun guffaws, buoyant. “Who cares? She said yes!” He bounces up and down like a kid on the couch, and his elbow hits Kyungsoo’s face in all his excitement. “I’m engaged! I’m fucking  _engaged_  to Kim Taeyeon! I’m getting married!”  
  
“Yah, stop that!” He punches Baekhyun’s arm repeatedly so that the other man stops bouncing. The couch won’t probably last long as it is. “I can’t believe it. You’re getting married, Baekhyunnie,” Kyungsoo says. He’s laughing so hard that his chest heaves. “The world is falling apart.”  
  
“Go buy yourself a nice tux or Sehun will be up and running for best man,” Baekhyun teases.   
  
Kyungsoo flicks his nose. “When’s the date?”  
  
“Haven’t figured that out yet, what with her MS and all,” Baekhyun admits. The corners of his mouth pull inward in sudden thought. “I guess the important thing is I’ve got my claim on her already.”  
  
Kyungsoo nods. “Make sure she doesn’t regret saying yes,” he says as he leans back on the couch. From the get-go, he was sure that Taeyeon would be the perfect partner for his best friend. Baekhyun is, admittedly, a lot of work. She hadn’t even been all that reluctant either, when she learned about Kyungsoo and Baekhyun’s past relationship. For a regular person, that would have been a bit difficult to swallow, but not her. Kyungsoo’s infinitely grateful that Baekhyun ended up with someone he both loves and needs. “Anyway, I’m happy for you, Baek. Not a lot of people can stomach you and your weirdness.”  
  
Baekhyun winks slyly at him. “You didn’t have to say it.” He grins. “You’re the first one to know. Thanks for putting up with me all the time.”  
  
“What a shoddy payment for my services,” Kyungsoo pipes, and Baekhyun laughs again. The sound makes Kyungsoo chuckle a little too. At least something’s going right in the world. “You’re welcome, Baek.”  
  
Baekhyun exhales loudly in content. “This is going to be great. I already have a good feeling about this.”  
  
Kyungsoo scoffs without heat. “You’re all about feelings.”  
  
“You should try it sometime, grumpy.” Baekhyun nudges him with a bony hip. “It’s fun.”  
  
Kyungsoo scratches his chin, and his neck. He thinks of the way Baekhyun’s hand has always fitted well on Taeyeon’s waist, like it really belongs there. He thinks of the way his heart stuttered when he woke up with Jongin lying next to him on the bed.   
  
“Sure,” Kyungsoo says, and he also thinks of the bill for the house he has to pay off for this month, and the call from United Films that hasn’t arrived yet. “Maybe some time, I guess.”   
  
Later, when Baekhyun tells him goodbye so he can share his engagement with the rest of their friends, Kyungsoo goes lie on his bed in a fetal position and reads all of the entries in  _West 10th_ , saving Jongin’s for last. Only at seven fifteen in the evening does he finally get to The Cave.   
  
It starts off a bit strange. Kyungsoo doesn’t get why the narrator of the story, a girl named Junhee, keeps on talking to an empty cave, prattling on about how beautiful the gladiolas are in summer and how the pine trees are tall and majestic. Kyungsoo doesn’t get why Junhee keeps on describing to the cool air from the mountain terraces and the blue jays that hunt in the riverside. He doesn’t get why she always comes back when the sun rises and talks for hours even though the stone walls won’t say anything back.  
  
_“I always feel happy talking to you,” Junhee never fails to say every sundown. “Is it alright if I come back tomorrow?”_ _  
  
_Though no sound comes forth except for the usual trickle of the water from the mouth of the cave, Junhee’s smile grows.__  
  
Kyungsoo’s near the end, and everything grows even more confusing.  
  
It’s not morning anymore, and it’s the night of the new moon. Kyungsoo detects a shift in narration; another character has cropped up out of the blue. After reading a few more lines, Kyungsoo then registers that the new narrator is a boy.  
  
_The thinning blades of the grass tickle his feet. Tickle, graze, brush. He does not step on the ground. He cannot step on the ground._ _  
  
_He follows the babble of the stream, knowing fully where it leads. At the end of the swirling paddies is —__  
  
Kyungsoo turns the page.  
  
_The lone evergreen tree in the forest, its branches curling at the far ends like a bright smile of a young girl. The sky is pitch black, but the wind is still, and the fireflies hover over the canopy, lighting up the way. Gold are the flickers, gold are the adornments on intricate braids of princesses._ _  
  
_Sungkeun sits on the velvet grass as the nighttime birds gather around to listen._  
  
_“Hello,” Sungkeun says. He places a gentle hand on the bark, and he can hear the spirit inside greet him a quiet “hello” too.__  
  
“Oh,” Kyungsoo mumbles out loud. His blood sings in his ears.  
  
_Sungkeun smiles. “The fireflies are very beautiful tonight, Junhee. I wish you could see it.”_

****

  
  
  
Kyungsoo stops the clacking on the keyboard when the door opens, though he keeps his gaze fixed on the screen. The mattress sinks, and Kyungsoo looks up to be greeted with Jongin’s sleepy smile.  
  
“I’m amazed,” Kyungsoo says. He shuts down his laptop. “You woke up really early.”  
  
Jongin tilts his head to the side. “And you didn’t sleep, did you? What is it that you’re working on, anyway?”  
  
“… Stuff.” E-mails and other paperwork from Seungsoo’s lawyer, but Jongin doesn’t need to know about that.   
  
He gives Kyungsoo an unimpressed look, and Kyungsoo shoves the other man away from his bed. “Go take a shower first,” he orders. “You stink.”  
  
After twenty minutes, they head out to the grocers. Kyungsoo buys enough fish and chicken to last for two weeks. He comes out as the victor of the war once again, diving in an almost empty rack just as soon as he sees a man in his forties eyeing the remaining dozen eggs all the way from aisle fourteen. Jongin makes fun of him as they shuffle towards the counter.  
  
Sunyoung invited them all for lunch at this new restaurant down at 12th, and also threatened Kyungsoo into bringing Jongin along. At the turn of the street, a brownstone stands and looms next to the overlying fences, and the pavement simmers slightly at the boiling sun of noon. Kyungsoo enters the restaurant first after reading the name on the glass, Jongin following closely behind.  
  
“Yah!” Kyungsoo spots Sunyoung waving for him at the table near at the back, right next to the fire exit. “Kyungsoo! Jongin-ah!”  
  
Jongin waves back to her shyly as they saunter towards her. “Hello, noona,” he murmurs. “You look really pretty today.”  
  
Sunyoung chuckles as her cheeks pink, visibly pleased. She urges the two of them to sit down. “You’re too sweet, Jonginnie. I bet you were a classic heartbreaker, back in high school.”  
  
Jongin smiles with a hint of a teasing lilt in them. “I was,” he says, easing in on the conversation as Kyungsoo peers at the menu. “But I already had someone close to my heart in high school so I didn’t give that much thought to other potential romances.” He nudges Kyungsoo by the elbow, and Kyungsoo pretends not to notice.  
  
Sunyoung eyes them speculatively. “Interesting,” she says, grinning.  
  
Baekhyun and Chanyeol choose that precise moment to show up, with the taller guy hoisting a sack over his shoulder. The server by the door eyes him critically, but lets him pass.   
  
“Are you carrying a dead person in there?” Sunyoung laughs. “Where’s Junmyeon? Sehun-ah? Taeyeon unnie?”  
  
“Sehun still has some requirements to cram for school. Boring film stuff,” Chanyeol says with pride. “Junmyeon hyung’s still at work, and noona’s on a field trip for her masters. Right, Baekhyunnie?”  
  
“Right. I don’t know how to explain the sack, though.” Baekhyun lightly prods it with the flat of his foot.  
  
Chanyeol gently slides it under the table, out of sight. “Battle gear!” he yodels. His curly, ash blond hair sticks up in all directions from the humidity. It makes Kyungsoo think of undercooked spaghetti. “It’s my friend’s old paintball equipment. I’m getting it out of his hands and pimping it for fun.”  
  
“Hyung, do you play paintball?” Jongin says. “I love paintball, but it’s been a long time since I’ve played.”  
  
Chanyeol turns ecstatic. “Why didn’t you just say so?” He lopes an easy arm around Jongin’s shoulders, snickering garishly. “There’s this place in Long Island where they hold sickass tournaments for indoor sports. You should come with me next time.”  
  
“But you only watch, Chanyeol,” Baekhyun points out. “You don’t participate in any games. Where’s the fun in that?”  
  
“It’s not like I have great hand-eye coordination like Jonginnie has,” Chanyeol says, making Jongin squirm and blush under his gaze. “We should take the kid out of the city, you know. Get him to experience stuff.”  
  
“I read your story, Jongin. It was absolutely beautiful!” Sunyoung says. “You definitely have to see more of the world and write about it. You’re going to make a great writer!”  
  
Jongin lowers his head as he flushes darkly. “You showed it to them?” he whispers to Kyungsoo’s ear. Kyungsoo notes that he doesn’t sound upset about it.  
  
“Loads of people will read your work sooner or later,” Kyungsoo replies. He shrugs, and tries not to dwell too much on how Jongin’s hand has easily slid up to his thigh, warming up his skin through the thin denim.  
  
“He’s your number one fan,” Sunyoung claims, holding up an index finger at Kyungsoo. “Be very flattered. Kyungsoo hardly pays attention to anyone.”  
  
“I know,” Jongin says, and moves to squeeze Kyungsoo’s knee under the table. “I’m lucky.”  
  
Kyungsoo’s astonished to see a dimple appear in Jongin’s cheek. He’s never seen that one before.   
  
Things don’t settle after, with Chanyeol constantly bouncing on his chair and flapping enthusiastically about some song he recently made that got viral on the internet. The crew already knew better than to persuade him into accepting that handsome producer job in Tennessee, and settled with cheering him on and providing the right reactions at the right places.  
  
Kyungsoo observes the white gold necklace on Sunyoung’s neck, and her thick ombre hair that has gotten so long, waving way past her delicate shoulders. Jongin was right. She did look great today.   
  
He opens the discussion later, when they’ve finished eating and are off to ambush Yixing at his place. Junmyeon said he would be meeting them there as soon as he gets off from work. Chanyeol, Jongin and Baekhyun are walking ahead of them, talking excitedly about a comic book adaption to hit the theaters. Kyungsoo asks Sunyoung if she’s finally clinched that vocal trainer job in Broadway.   
  
Sunyoung first looks at Kyungsoo in honest bewilderment, and then laughs. “You’ve changed a lot, Kyungsoo,” she says. They cross paths towards St. Mark’s. There aren’t that many tourists today.  
  
Kyungsoo studies the sunrays glittering at the edges of a linden tree. “Maybe,” he says.  
  
“You’re a lot more… open.” Sunyoung glances at her phone, and tells Kyungsoo it’s a text from Junmyeon telling her that he’s almost there. She pockets it again after typing a quick reply. “Usually you’d just stare at people.”  
  
Kyungsoo puckers his lip. He’s not sure if it’s a compliment or not, so he doesn’t reply.  
  
“He changed a lot too, from when I first met him,” Sunyoung proclaims. Kyungsoo looks up from his sandals, and sees Sunyoung’s eyes falling at Jongin’s back. “He was a bit jittery before, like he had no idea where he should go, and he’s so young.” She whips her bangs back with a slight ruffle of a hand. “He looks a lot more grounded now.”  
  
Kyungsoo shrugs. “I think he knows what he wants. He just didn’t know how to get there back then.”  
  
“Alphabet City’s a bit isolated from the rest of Manhattan,” Sunyoung says out of the blue. “I guess that’s why I moved here. A lot of people still aren’t nice, but you get to bump into a couple of ones that matter. Kindness is novelty here. That’s not necessarily a bad thing.”  
  
“It’s not,” Kyungsoo says. He wonders what Jongin sees in Alphabet City, wonders if they see the same place in totally different spectrums. It wouldn’t be a surprise. Jongin usually doesn’t think the way Kyungsoo expects him to.  
  
“He’s graduating soon, right?” Sunyoung says. “This September?”  
  
Kyungsoo nods. Something about the way Sunyoung poses the question makes his fingers furl. His mouth tightens.  
  
“He’s got a great future ahead of him.” Sunyoung’s tone is wistful. “He and Sehun. They’ve come a long, long way.”  
  
“They have,” Kyungsoo says. He’s just basically repeating everything she says for the whole conversation, so he keeps his quiet again until they arrive to Yixing’s apartment.

****

  
  
  
Something comes in the mail today. The landlady delivers it up to their floor, and Kyungsoo is silently horrified to discover that Jongin listed the apartment as his permanent residence.  
  
The letter is thin and crisp. Kyungsoo already knew what was inside when he saw a publishing firm as the return address, but he gingerly leans his chin on Jongin’s shoulder to read it, still. It’s an absolute pleasure to watch Jongin’s expression morph into bewilderment, to disbelief, and to finally, a pure, blinding happiness.   
  
“See.” Kyungsoo grins at the way Jongin keeps on fondling the penguin seal at the bottom. “I told you loads of people would get to read your work.”  
  
“This is… massive,” Jongin croaks. “I…”  
  
“You’re going to be a writer, Jongin,” Kyungsoo tells him gently, endlessly amused that the other man is trembling so hard. He takes the letter from his hands, which looks like it’s only seconds away from being torn or crushed.  
  
The look of euphoria then disappears in a flash, when Kyungsoo turns back. It gets replaced with something Kyungsoo is oh-so familiar with: fear. “But I —” Jongin stutters. “I haven’t even graduated yet…”  
  
Kyungsoo snorts. “You don’t need a diploma to write.” He holds out the letter. “This is enough proof.”  
  
Jongin still looks thoroughly shaken, and his lips keep on twitching. Kyungsoo sighs. “You don’t have to accept if you think you’re not ready, of course. It’s your work they want to publish.”   
  
“They said they’d only squeeze the story in a small, collector’s series but… an agent. Book deals. I met someone from Brown University in an excursion last year, in Bastille. She got the same offer.” Jongin gulps. “I see her name on  _Sunday Book Review_  every now and then. She even has her own website, hyung.”  
  
“So? You don’t want that?”  
  
“I’m not sure,” Jongin mumbles. “That would… that would definitely make my family happy. They probably won’t worry about me being penniless anymore.”  
  
Kyungsoo threads his fingers through his hair in frustration. “Fucking stop thinking about your wonderful family for once and focus,” he grills. “Things will be different now, Jongin, if you write back and tell them it’s a yes. You said you want to take the road less taken.” Kyungsoo inhales. “This is it, right? This is what you want?”  
  
“Yes. It is.” He looks at Kyungsoo thorough the fringe of his hair. His cheeks and neck are red. “But I don’t… will this change anything about us, hyung? Because I don’t want that.”  
  
Jongin’s eyes hold their ground, but Kyungsoo can’t stand the sadness swimming in them. “What makes you think that that would be the case?” Kyungsoo lies.  
  
Jongin scowls at the floor and fidgets, bobbing his right leg up and down, up and down. “I know you,” he spits the words like fire. “You always compare yourself to me, cataloguing all the differences. I don’t get why you keep on doing that. It’s stupid.” He quivers. “Why is it always such a big deal to you, hyung?”  
  
Kyungsoo winces, swallowing back that creeping burn in his throat. “It makes it easier for me,” he says, trying to sound casual.   
  
“For what? Easier for what?” Jongin holds his arm firmly, and his touch sears Kyungsoo’s skin.  
  
Kyungsoo blinks rapidly, but he keeps his silence. He doesn’t want to answer that question, wants to avoid saying it out loud. Even with all his careening away from superstitions, Kyungsoo doesn’t want to jinx it.  
  
Jongin stares at him oddly, until he lets out a sigh. He’s letting it go, but Kyungsoo can sense that they’ll have this conversation again, if it’s not too late. “You’re so confusing,” he breathes, before leaning in to capture Kyungsoo’s lips, and Kyungsoo’s mind drifts elsewhere.

****

  
  
  
There’s been a problem with the dry cleaners, and it looks like they won’t get the soiled bed sheets back on time, and they’ve both been too busy to vacuum the mattresses. Kyungsoo considers this new arrangement and orders the twenty-three-year-old to sleep on the couch, while he spreads the only clean blanket on the carpet like a mat.  
  
“You’re doing a banged up job in trying not to make me fall in love with you more,” Jongin claims. “Quit acting like you’re actually my boyfriend.” He levels Kyungsoo with a stare and tilts his head. “Come on. I won’t eat you, hyung.”  
  
“Your couch is too small for us to sleep on together,” Kyungsoo says.   
  
Jongin, for his size, has taken up almost every space. Only a pillow would fit in there. “But you’re tiny.”  
  
“Shut up, Jongin.”  
  
“I’ll sleep on the floor with you,” Jongin says quietly. “It’s summer. It’s warm enough.”  
  
As Kyungsoo bends over to pick up a fallen book and places it on the table near him, Jongin reaches out for his wrist.  
  
“Kyungsoo.” Jongin’s face twists at him. “Hyung, are you alright?”  
  
It’s frustrating, how Kyungsoo can’t help but like how much his name means to Jongin, hearing the suppressed caress in the other man’s voice.   
  
“I can sleep down here,” Kyungsoo assures him. “It’s okay.”  
  
Jongin shakes his head. “That’s not what I meant.” His brown irises are buttery, warm.   
  
Kyungsoo glues his eyes to the bob of Jongin’s throat, because he can’t afford to look at Jongin directly right now. It’s sinking in now, the realization that he’s already forgotten what it’s like to sleep alone. “I’m fine.”  
  
“Are you sure?”  
  
Kyungsoo bites his lip, and Jongin sits up, ready. “I’m… I’m not sure,” Kyungsoo finally says.  
  
Jongin slides off from the couch and joins Kyungsoo on the floor. His palms are flat, and the flimsy material of the blanket wrinkles underneath him. Jongin sighs, then, closing his eyes in content as he wraps himself around Kyungsoo’s frame.   
  
Together, they fall back.

****

  
  
  
It’s the last day of June, and it’s hot inside the apartment. Kyungsoo’s made another pitcher of lemonade to quench the thirst and a bit of tea for Jongin’s sore muscles from yesterday’s dance rehearsals. Jongin is airing out his bed through the window in his room.  
  
There are more than three knocks on the door. “Jongin!” a voice calls as the pounding grows louder. “Jongin, open the door! Kim Jongin!”  
  
Kyungsoo’s stomach plummets to the floor.  _Of course._  He scrambles towards the lock.  _Of course it’s today._  They haven’t even made it to July. That had been the deal.  
  
Jongin’s head pokes out of his room. “Hyung, what’s —?”  
  
Kyungsoo swivels the knob open, and he’s greeted by none other than Mr. and Mrs. Kim. They’re wearing matching furious faces.  
  
“Where’s our son?” Mr. Kim says. The ring of authority isn’t lost in Kyungsoo, and he meekly opens the door wide for them.  
  
“Father,” Jongin squeaks when his parents enter the living room. His jaw slackens, and Kyungsoo hates how he suddenly looks so small in his track pants. “Mother…”  
  
“A letter from the insurance company arrived yesterday,” Mr. Kim says with a level tone. He shuts the door behind him as he saunters towards Jongin, and Kyungsoo takes a few steps closer as well. “We talked with the doctor who treated you. We talked to the police.” He raises an eyebrow, and Jongin balks like he got slapped. “How dare you take such actions without informing us? How dare you decide these things on your own? You might think you know what’s best for you, Jongin, but you are still a kid.”  
  
“I’m not seventeen anymore,” Jongin grumbles. “I got mugged, no big deal. I get worse when I dance. I only had a couple of scratches —”  
  
“You could have gotten  _killed_!” Mrs. Kim screeches, going teary-eyed. “Jongin, what were you thinking?”  
  
“I was hurt but I’m fine now,” Jongin says. “I’m sorry for not telling you but I didn’t want you to worry. I’m fine, Mom. Look at me. I’m more than fine!”  
  
Mr. Kim looks at him sternly. “We trusted you enough to think that you’d be okay living on your own. We even approved of you taking up writing for university and letting you move to this neighborhood. But Jongin, you broke that trust. You can’t imagine the great shock your mother and I had when we found out you’d gotten yourself into trouble—”  
  
“Why do you even care?” Jongin whittles, and Kyungsoo looks at him in alarm. “I’ve always been that kid who never grew up the way you wanted, right?”  
  
His mother gasps. “Kim Jongin —”  
  
“You’re all suffocating me,” Jongin mumbles as his fists shake at his sides. He’s not yelling or trashing, and it makes everything so much worse. “You’re not letting me have a life of my own. I’m doing everything I can to please you both and make myself happy, but you won’t let me.” His voice cracks at the last word. “I can’t even find a middle ground for all of this anymore.”  
  
Mr. Kim puts a hand on her wife’s shoulder as she chokes back a sob. “Son, let’s continue this talk at home,” he says, and at that, Jongin bursts.  
  
“I’m staying,” Jongin says. He does that scrunched paper cup thing again, and his voice sounds so strained.   
  
Mrs. Kim looks at him strangely. “What? But you’re almost done with school. You have to come home now,” she reasons.  
  
“You can’t take me away from here,” Jongin croaks again in rough defiance. He backs away, and Kyungsoo sees that dangerous mix of a rebellious teen and a frightened boy shining in Jongin’s eyes. “You can’t take me away. You can’t make me.”  
  
Mrs. Kim gapes at him in astonishment, at the wild expression on her son’s face. “Jongin, what on earth has gotten into you?”  
  
And there it is, the thing Kyungsoo has been watching out for. He first sees it in Mrs. Kim, after she finally takes in the way Kyungsoo has been unconsciously shielding Jongin with his body, after she finally registers the way Jongin’s fingers have been twitching anxiously, like he’s restraining himself from gripping on one end of Kyungsoo’s shirt. The same look appears in Mr. Kim’s eyes, not long after. It’s finally happening, all the things he’s been dreading for months.  
  
Kyungsoo scrambles for courage. He doesn’t want Jongin to get punched.  
  
“I’ll talk to him,” Kyungsoo says. “I’ll talk to him, sir. Ma’am,” he repeats a little louder, bowing. When he straightens, they’re all looking at him in surprise. Kyungsoo tries not to squirm.  
  
Jongin’s mouth is agape. “H-hyung…”  
  
“Please give us a minute,” Kyungsoo says to Jongin’s parents. He bows again, and he grabs Jongin’s wrist and hauls him inside his room. He lets the younger go as he locks the door behind him, taking in deep, deep breaths. His chest is hurting unbearably.  
  
“Hyung, what are you doing?” It only takes three strides for Jongin to cut the distance. “This is my fight.”  
  
Too close. Jongin’s face is too close. “This isn’t a fight,” Kyungsoo says weakly. He presses a palm on Jongin’s chest and shoves him away with much force. “If it is, you’ve already lost.”  
  
Jongin gapes at him again in silence. Kyungsoo hopes the other man’s mind isn’t too frazzled, and that he gets the message Kyungsoo’s trying to relay to him.   
  
“You’re lucky,” Kyungsoo says when the weight of the situation starts to drag him down. “You’re lucky that you have your parents looking out for you. You’re lucky that you have everything. Stop acting like a high-strung teenager.” He lets out a shaky breath. “I’d listen to them, Jongin, if I were you.”  
  
“What are you —” Jongin’s face contorts with a pained expression. “Kyungsoo hyung —”  
  
“I told you. I told you so many times so that you wouldn’t forget,” Kyungsoo says flatly. “We’re not meant to be together. Not in the way that you’ve hoped for.”  
  
Jongin starts to chip away, his shoulders quaking as he holds something back. He blindly reaches out for Kyungsoo’s hand, but Kyungsoo’s not going to be swayed anymore.  
  
Jongin bites his lip so hard that he draws blood. “You don’t want me to leave,” he says, almost insisting. He cups the side of Kyungsoo’s face then, when the elder turns rigid and unresponsive. “You don’t.”  
  
The slope of Jongin’s nose, the fullness of Jongin’s lips. His obnoxiously high laugh. The feeling of his fingers running through Kyungsoo’s hair. Kyungsoo tries his best to commit everything to memory, in these few precious moments he has left.  
  
“Go write lots of stories for me,” Kyungsoo says. He forces himself to smile, even if he wants to do something else, something really sad. “With lots of happy endings, you know. For the kids.”  
  
Jongin’s not holding it back anymore — he’s crying now, and it looks worse than that paper cup impersonation he does. “You can’t choose for me,” he whimpers. “I want… I want…”  
  
Kyungsoo laughs sharply to cover up the horrible hiccupping noises Jongin does as he sobs, but then he halts when he realizes that it sounds eerily similar to the way Baekhyun had laughed, that night at the park when they broke up.   
  
“Your parents are right outside, Jongin,” Kyungsoo says when he thinks Jongin is ready to listen to him again. His voice is trembling, out of control. He needs to end this quickly. “You should go.”  
  
“I –I can’t,” Jongin weeps.   
  
Kyungsoo curls his fingers around Jongin’s wrist reassuringly. “This wasn’t supposed to last,” Kyungsoo reminds him. He lowers Jongin to his height with his other hand, and plants a soft kiss to his forehead. “But it was good, for both of us. I’m sorry if it got really complicated. We’re going to be fine after this, I promise.” He flashes a red-eyed Jongin a tiny smile. “I planned these things way ahead.”   
  
“No, you didn’t,” Jongin says quietly, sniffling. “I fell in love with you, hard, and you surely didn’t plan that.”  
  
Kyungsoo thinks about it. “Okay, you got me there. That wasn’t something I thought would happen.” He looks away. “I can only predict the bad stuff. I’ve had loads of practice with that.”  
  
Jongin makes a noise like he’s been stepped on.   
  
“Our minute is up,” Kyungsoo mumbles. “Your parents are waiting. I’ll help you pack your things.” He slowly retracts his hold on Jongin’s neck and keeps three steps of a distance from him from then on. It’s a start.

****

  
  
They turn off the television when it’s obvious that neither of them are interested in watching a rugby game. The atmosphere turns bleak in an instant without the cheers of the crowd blasting from the speakers.  
  
“Come on, Kyungsoo. You can cry,” Baekhyun says. He dumps sweetener and cream into a glass of beer. “I won’t judge. You’ve been holding it in for too long.”  
  
Kyungsoo exhales wearily, and maybe it does sound like the sigh of a thousand mourners because Baekhyun quickly shoves him another drink, the one without aspartame.  
  
“Are you sure you want to stay in here?” Baekhyun starts again when Kyungsoo doesn’t speak. His voice echoes bleakly in the living room, and it reminds Kyungsoo of how empty the place has grown in only a matter of hours. “Taeyeon and I are willing to open the sofa for rental. You’re okay with moth balls, right?”  
  
“No,” Kyungsoo says. He drinks. He sighs.   
  
Baekhyun regards him. “This is very unusual post-break up behavior, Kyungsoo.” He nibbles the inside of his cheek, and then says, “When you called, I was hoping for an explosive role-reversal.”  
  
Kyungsoo wants to shrug, but his shoulders feel too heavy. “Sorry to disappoint,” he mutters and pauses. “Jongin and I weren’t together.”  
  
Baekhyun snorts. “That didn’t make it hurt any less, did it?”  
  
Kyungsoo closes his eyes. He’d watched the luggage disappear, one by one, as it got loaded in the trunk of a sleek Chrysler. Jongin had been grim-faced the whole time, and refused to look at him.  
  
After that, Kyungsoo had silently gone to work, clearing the shoe rack from any marks that had been left by boat-sized loafers and maroon sneakers.  
  
“No,” Kyungsoo says. He places his half-empty bottle on the table and cups his legs together. “No, it didn’t.”  
  
“Kyungsoo…”  
  
“That doesn’t mean I regret anything,” Kyungsoo says with confidence. He leans his forehead on his knees. He’s so tired. He wants to curl up and sleep and wake up to find that nothing has changed. “I don’t regret it.”  
  
“Because you already knew it would happen,” Baekhyun says. “Right. You keep telling me that. To expect the worst when the bomb blows.” He chuckles, humorless. “I don’t want to see a black eye like Junmyeon hyung’s on Jongin’s pretty face either.”  
  
“It’s traditional.” Kyungsoo lets out a grieving laugh. “Traditional Korean parenting.”  
  
Baekhyun shifts next to him, making himself comfortable on the couch. “‘Traditional Korean parenting’,” he mimics, this time with a whole lot of mockery in his tone. He takes a sip of his beer. “No wonder you’ve always hated Chuseok.”  
  
“I hate a lot of things,” Kyungsoo slurs. It’s true, and a part of him wishes that it won’t be the case anymore, when the sun rises tomorrow. He wishes that he’ll be able to crawl his way out of the grave he dug himself in deep. Wishes that, after this, he’ll be able to feel a lot more things other than hate, wishes that he’d be allowed to. Kyungsoo wishes. Hopes.  
  
Hate hurts a lot less than love, but in the end, it’s not what he wants to feel after all.  
  
“We’ll talk again later,” Baekhyun says, and there’s a warm blanket pressed to Kyungsoo’s frame. “Go to sleep.”

****

  
  
  
In the morning, Kyungsoo buys himself a new wallet. The old one he decides he’ll still keep, even if it’s torn in the middle and bulging from all the colorful post-its. He places it right next to his accountancy diploma and shuts the drawer tight.

 

****

  
  
“Hello?” Kyungsoo says blearily to the receiver. It must be too early, and he’s bone tired from all the trouble Chanyeol, Junmyeon, and Baekhyun had put him through the night before. The hangover is stronger this time.  
  
“Hello? Kyungsoo Do?”  
  
Kyungsoo sits straight. The English jars him awake. “J-Jimmy? Jimmy Darwin?”  
  
“Yeah, it’s me,” the man says with a laugh. “Almost thought you wouldn’t recognize my voice on the phone. It’s been a while since we’ve talked.” He laughs again. “How’s Sehun doing?”  
  
“Great,” Kyungsoo replies. He swings his legs off the bed and puts on his pants. “He’s graduating next month.”  
  
“With honors?”  
  
Kyungsoo nods to himself. “Top notch.”  
  
“As expected,” Jimmy says. A car horn blares in the background. “Anyway, look. I wanted to talk about your entry for the festival. Sorry if I couldn’t meet you to tell you personally. Germany’s been keeping me hella busy.”  
  
“That’s okay.”  
  
“I’m proud to say that I bring good news,” Jimmy says ecstatically, and Kyungsoo’s heart leaps a little. “Congratulations, Mr. Do! You’ve been specifically chosen by the director and the panel to open for New York… and Los Angeles, and London, and Tulsa, and –”  
  
“Wait, Jimmy,” Kyungsoo breathes. He stops in front of the mirror, and taking in the papery complexion of his reflection. He pinches his skin, and it takes too long for the red to bloom. “We were only supposed to show in New York.”  
  
“The material is great, Kyungsoo! We loved your film!” Jimmy exclaims. “We were going to show your film in all the cities, anyway, but I called to let you know that we want you and your whole crew to be there for awards’ night. And not just for New York. We want you there for  _every_  city.”  
  
Kyungsoo’s reflection in the mirror goes absolutely still.  
  
“Hey, Kyungsoo. Kyungsoo? Are you still there?”  
  
Kyungsoo sees his mouth open before he can stop himself. “I’m sorry, but we can’t,” he says. “We can’t afford to fly to all six cities. We don’t –” Kyungsoo flinches. “Have any money for it.”  
  
The other line falls silent for a while. “Kyungsoo, it’s not only a matter of receiving the awards personally. We’re presenting you a great opportunity to meet other film directors and big producers from around the world. Get your name out there in the field.”  
  
“We haven’t budgeted all the way for awards’ night in different cities, Jimmy, I’m sorry,” Kyungsoo says, and his voice cracks miserably. He’s parched. “If the festival is willing to sponsor us, that’d be great. But if not, then I don’t think flying to London or San Francisco is going to be possible for us.”  
  
Jimmy sighs in resignation. “Call me back if you change your mind,” he says. “The participation and prize money will still be sent to you in a week. Let’s get some dinner sometime with Sehun when I come back.”  
  
“Thank you,” Kyungsoo says, and Jimmy hangs up.  
  
He takes a hot shower. He’s careful to scrub everywhere, and lets the shampoo soak his hair longer than usual until all the suds pop on their own and he has to rinse. He gazes at the steam condense on the glass, rather than at the extra bottle of strawberry conditioner, or at the brown towel on the shelf.  
  
The shudders overtake him as soon as he steps out of the bathroom, and he frowns. The air isn’t supposed to be cold. He has to stop Baekhyun and the rest of the guys from tricking him into drinking again.   
  
He dresses quickly and heads downstairs. The steel flooring creaks even more than usual. Kyungsoo knocks on the white door and waits.  
  
It swings open. “Oh. It’s you.” The landlady yawns and scratches the back of her ear. “It’s a bit early, Mr. Do. What is it that you want?”  
  
“I’m here to pay the rent,” Kyungsoo says, taking out his wallet. “For July. You forgot to come by the unit yesterday.”  
  
“Unit four, right?” She yawns again. “Don’t worry. Mr. Kim already paid for the rest of the year.”  
  
Kyungsoo’s fingers pause from counting the crisp, green bills. He’s not altogether sure if he heard her right. “What?”   
  
“Jongin Kim. That college roommate of yours whose folks caused a ruckus a week ago,” she clarifies. “Wonder why that kid even got himself an apartment here with a car like his parents’.”  
  
“He’s a writer.” Kyungsoo inhales, feeling his eyes sting unpleasantly. He pockets his wallet again.   
  
The landlady gives him a steady look. “Do you want to move to the next unit? Number four’s a bit big for only one person,” she says. “No one stays there for more than two years alone. I remember telling Mr. Kim that when he first moved in.”  
  
Kyungsoo already noticed that, the first day Jongin left. “I’ll try to contact him first and have him withdraw the payment before I move.” Jongin’s presence still lingers in the oddest places, like on Kyungsoo’s filming equipment, inside the kitchen cabinets, on the refrigerator. Kyungsoo can picture him lying with his chest flat on the couch, watching SLS and variety shows on cable, if Kyungsoo closes his eyes tightly enough. “I think I’ll be fine on my own for a few weeks.”  
  
The landlady nods solemnly. “Alright. Good morning, Mr. Do.” She closes the door.  
  
Kyungsoo stays rooted on his spot for a while until he finally finds enough strength to go upstairs. 

****

  
  
“Everything going well on your boat?”  
  
Kyungsoo stills, and then nods. “Yeah,” he says. He almost scowls when he catches himself sounding rudely dispassionate, and adds, “I’m fine.”  
  
Jongdae isn’t quite looking at him, his eyes trained to the prim state of Kyungsoo’s polo shirt, but Kyungsoo’s shoulders hunch over himself unconsciously.   
  
The store manager hands him an envelope thick with cash and a promise of better days ahead. “It’s funny!” Jongdae chirps. He slides a piece of bibimpap towards Kyungsoo’s direction, and Kyungsoo nibbles at it on the counter as Jongdae looks for straws for the juice box. “You haven’t stayed as long as the rest, but I feel like I’ve known you for years.”  
  
“Umm, thanks,” Kyungsoo says. He plunges the straw down on Jongdae’s drink and hands it to the other man. “Me too.”  
  
“It was nice having you here, Kyungsoo! Really. Don’t hesitate to come and hang out with me. We can watch movies or drink. Bring your other friends too.” His smile is very bright, and Kyungsoo tries to mimic it with his own.  
  
He looks over the shelf that flanks the east wall, and his gaze drifts to the on-the-go nachos that are nestled next to the jars of salsa. “I will,” Kyungsoo says.

****

  
  
  
Everything looked absolutely restless when Kyungsoo went out of his apartment building this morning. It’s another hot day of summer, with no signs of the sun ever letting the clouds take reign of the skies just yet.  
  
The third week of the month hasn’t been so bad. Kyungsoo’s managed to pay the mortgage while keeping a little extra for himself, and with much effort, he hasn’t touched a single bottle of Coors for a grand total of nineteen days. He’s proud of this fact, especially since Baekhyun, Sunyoung and Chanyeol keep on dropping by Unit 4 with alarming frequency. Even Sehun and Junmyeon, despite their busy schedules, come by often. He’s thankful, but a little annoyed.  
  
Kyungsoo enters a barbershop down 5th and gets his hair cut. He fingers his fringe once it gets snipped into a much comfortable length, a couple of centimeters above the crook of his eyebrows. His reflection looks better. When he’s satisfied, he pays the barber and leaves.   
  
His phone vibrates in his short pants, and Kyungsoo flips it open.   
  
It reads  _0003273880._  
  
_Ahh_. Kyungsoo recalls asking Jongin’s bank account number sometime last night. He types,  _Thanks. Will send money to you later_ , as a reply.  
  
He retraces his steps and ends up at Sovereign Bank. Only five cars spread over the interconnecting streets. The residents usually take up much of the driveway space, but since most of the families are on vacation somewhere in the finer places of New York, or somewhere very far away, the roads in Alphabet City aren’t as clogged as they usually are during regular seasons.  
  
He’s at the deposit machine, counting money, when he receives another text message.  _You don’t have to do this :(_  
  
Kyungsoo scratches the base of his nose after he sniffs.  _That wasn’t part of our deal jongin. I’m supposed to be at 3 by the end of july._  
  
_But it’s like you’re already making it real, hyung. Please don’t leave._  
  
Kyungsoo reaches for his bangs, but then realizes that he’s cut them too short to pull at them anymore. He’s going to pick at something, start something he shouldn’t, but he types,  _Why do you even want me to stay there?_  
  
Jongin’s reply is quick and very straightforward.  _So that you’d miss me._  
  
Kyungsoo stops. “Idiot,” he murmurs, his mouth already forming the word before it registers in his head. Kyungsoo’s not sure if it’s a good sign.   
  
He places his phone back inside his pocket and dumps the cash in. The machine gobbles it down with much enthusiasm.   
  
The trip to the 9th precinct isn’t long, even if Kyungsoo hasn’t brought his bike with him. At the very beginning of the visit, Seungsoo grins. “Nice hair,” he says. “I’ve always wondered what it would look like if you dyed it orange.”  
  
“I don’t know, hyung. I’m not into experiments,” Kyungsoo says. He stares at the growing stubble on Seungsoo’s chin, not knowing what else to say.   
  
Seungsoo must sense this, because he grins wider. “You sure do look down. Go hotwire a sports car and get arrested,” he says. “That way you can stay here with me and not bother about real life at all.”  
  
“I’m sure the change of venue won’t do me any good.” Kyungsoo picks at the skin on his ring finger. “Baekhyunnie and Taeyeon noona are getting married.”  
  
Seungsoo’s face stays unchanged, big smile in place. He scratches his neck, his left ear, his nose – a tic Kyungsoo acquired from him years ago. “You don’t seem happy about that.”  
  
Kyungsoo shakes his head. “I am happy,” he responds. “He wants me as best man. I’ve just never been part of such an occasion before, is all. I need a good tux. Baekhyun is always reminding me to get one.”  
  
“First, if they’re planning to get married under church bells, the best man will have to do a toast during the reception,” Seungsoo says. “You’ll have to say some gooey shit about the bride and the groom. Hopefully something that won’t offend Taeyeon’s parents or make the guests feel out of the loop. It’d be better if you wrote the speech down and plan it all out. You’re good at that. Do you have a date already?”  
  
Kyungsoo blinks. “Date?”  
  
“Groomsmen bring dates to weddings. It’s a cardinal rule.”  
  
“We still don’t know when Baekhyun and Taeyeon will… they haven’t exactly planned anything yet.” Kyungsoo shrugs. “I’ll find myself a date by then, if it’s really necessary.”  
  
Seungsoo snickers. “If you’re okay with looking stupid and lonely by the corner, I guess you won’t,” he says. “You like doing that in your spare time, anyway.”  
  
“Thanks, hyung,” Kyungsoo says with an eye-roll. Seungsoo laughs, and the hollowness in Kyungsoo’s chest gets filled up, even if only for a little while.  
  
After a couple more detours, Kyungsoo convinces himself to come back to Unit 4. It won’t be anyone’s apartment for long, after he finishes packing tonight and moving to Unit 3. He carries his equipment to the living room, along with his luggage, and airs everything out, making sure that he doesn’t leave a trace. He takes everything away, chucks the books and shirts Jongin forgot to pack in his haste inside a cardboard box and slaps Jongin’s parents’ address on the side. He’ll hand it to the post tomorrow.  
  
He moves his things next door one by one. By the end of the day, Kyungsoo is sweaty and tired, and when one o’ clock strikes, he finishes rearranging all the furniture back to the way it was last February 7th. He opens the window, letting the night air chill the living room a few degrees down, and lies down on the floor, curling up in an almost fetal position.  
  
Kyungsoo lets his right cheek soak in the coolness of the vinyl flooring as he pulls out the phone from his pocket. Jongin’s message glares at his face for a couple of seconds as he thinks of something to say.  
  
When he can’t think of anything, Kyungsoo places a palm on his forehead in defeat. He rolls, lying on his back.  _Good night. I hope you’re sleeping well._  
  
He hits send.

****

  
  
It takes three minutes for Kyungsoo to arrive to Norway Avenue and another ten minutes for him to board the bus. There aren’t any empty seats except for one near the back. The other passenger is chatty, engaging Kyungsoo in a conversation with a heavy Southern accent about a new upgrade in a programming company he’s working at. Kyungsoo indulges the stranger with polite grunts and stays silent for the whole time they cruise through Clove Road.  
  
The bus picks up speed where the road traverses Schoharie St. The leaves blur when Kyungsoo turns to gaze at the window, and the shadows slink back near the aspen trunks as the sun rises higher.  
  
The Southern guy waves him goodbye at Cheshire Place, Sunday paper tucked under his armpit. Kyungsoo starts fixing the basket of freesias in his hand at Bement Avenue. Shortly after, it’s Kyungsoo’s turn to alight the bus.  
  
After a minute of walking, Kyungsoo stretches his back in front of Gate 8 of Saint Peters Cemetery. The journey hasn’t been excruciating, though Kyungsoo feels drowsy. He licks his lips and clutches the basket close to him.  
  
When his mother died, Kyungsoo asked his father why they had to bury her in Staten Island, which is more than an hour-long trip from their house in Chelsea. Mr. Do had been quick to answer, as if he was expecting his son to ask this as soon as the funeral services ended. Kyungsoo couldn’t hide the fact that he felt uncomfortable in that black suit he rented.  
  
“It’s a small town in a big city,” Mr. Do said. He lifted his gaze from the ground and aimed it towards the sky. The clouds were not thick but not thin either, and the weather had been toasty warm – a good day for frisbee. He wasn’t smiling, but Kyungsoo thought that he looked peaceful, somehow.  
  
When the bus drove a while ago across the Verrazano Bridge, the Upper Bay glittered, calm and green, and Kyungsoo gets it now, sort of. It’s a scenic borough compared to Manhattan, and the townhouses don’t tower over the streets and make the people feel like ants, small and overwrought. The wind can get a bit sinister, but perhaps it’s only him thinking of other things.  
  
Kyungsoo lifts the chain boundaries and follows the path. There’s a girl silently weeping a few steps ahead in front of a headstone, and Kyungsoo takes another route towards his parents’ burial ground.  
  
Upon finding it, he starts to pluck off the weeds. He picks at his nails after he’s finished and sat down, offering the basket of freesias to the tombstone.  
  
“Hi, Mom. Dad,” Kyungsoo says. “How are you?”  
  
No one responds, and so Kyungsoo scootches closer to the grave, inhaling deeply.  
  
He doesn’t stay for long as much as he’d like. He left his cellphone at home, like he always does at this time of the month. Last time he checked, there had been an influx of missed calls from Baekhyun, Chanyeol, and Sunyoung, and Jimmy’s texts about the film. Some of them are from Jongin, asking about how his day went and telling Kyungsoo about his. Tons of smiley faces punctuate Jongin’s messages, and it makes Kyungsoo’s eyes hurt, somewhat, when he looks at them for too long, that he puts off replying to them.  
  
Kyungsoo stands up and presses three fingers to his lips, before running them against the ridges of the tombstone. He bows deeply and makes his leave.  
  
The trip back to Alphabet City is somber, and Kyungsoo strolls down the streets aimlessly. It’s out of his way, but he passes by St. Mark’s Bookshop and peeks through the windows. Surprisingly, there aren’t that many customers. Kyungsoo pauses in front of the entrance, but ultimately decides not to enter and walks away.  
  
Zitao is sitting at the last stair of the porch when Kyungsoo finally decides to come home. Streaks of ash decorate the tips of Zitao’s lace-less shoes.   
  
Kyungsoo approaches him, warily. “Is there something wrong?”   
  
Zitao jumps a little from his seat. “Jonginnie did mention you can get a little creepy.” Zitao smiles. He flicks the butt of his cigarette and tosses it somewhere on the sidewalk. “You look tired.”  
  
“I went to visit my parents,” Kyungsoo says. He quickly looks over Zitao’s shoulder, then turns back to face him. “How’s Jongin-ah?”  
  
Zitao smiles even wider. “Not faring any better than you, I suppose.”  
  
There’s a heavy pressure against Kyungsoo’s back, making him hunch. He lets his teeth graze the inside of his cheek, and he rubs his nose. “Why are you here, Zitao?”  
  
“I didn’t know you quit working at the deli store. I went there this morning, thinking you were on shift.  _That_ , Jongin hadn’t mentioned.”  
  
“I haven’t told him,” Kyungsoo says, his tongue feeling thick. “Yet.”  
  
Zitao nods. “It usually takes you two weeks to reply to him, right?” he says, and laughs when Kyungsoo narrows his eyes at him. “Come and have a drink with me, Kyungsoo.”  
  
“I’d… better not,” Kyungsoo responds after a while. Recently, he feels even worse after he drinks. “Are you okay with going upstairs? I’ll make some tea instead. Or coffee.”  
  
Zitao cocks an eyebrow at this, but doesn’t protest. He silently follows Kyungsoo to Unit 3, the stairs creaking louder than usual with his every step. He smells so much of smoke that Kyungsoo holds his breath until he slots the key on the door knob.  
  
As the tea brews in the kitchen, Kyungsoo can’t help but think that Zitao looks remarkably out of place, sitting cross-legged on his ratty couch.  
  
“His parents are still a bit shocked,” Zitao says, voice slicing through the quiet. “About everything.”  
  
Kyungsoo takes the lone chair at the coffee table and angles it so he and Zitao can talk face-to-face. There’s still some space in the couch, but it’d be too awkward, to sit that close to him. “They were more than shocked when they came here to pick Jongin up,” Kyungsoo says. He shrugs. “It’s expected. It’s not the first time.”  
  
“My folks made a huge fuss about it too when they found out I was sleeping with my Korean tutor,” Zitao shares with a sly quirk in his eyes. “Baba and Mama soon gave up, though. They already knew it was coming when I came home with silver rings in my ears and the name of a guy tattooed on my right arm at age eighteen.”  
  
Kyungsoo rests his palm on the curve of his neck. “But Jongin isn’t… he wasn’t exactly into guys, was he?” he says. “Before, I mean. He never told me, but I thought…”  
  
Zitao’s lips dip low. “Can’t say. I only met him in college. I’m actually two years older than him, but he’s graduating ahead of me since the curriculum back in China isn’t the same with here.”   
  
Kyungsoo nods, and settles with staring at his lap. He wishes he could find something interesting about his pants.   
  
“You and Jongin met before.”  
  
Kyungsoo’s heart skips a beat, and he looks up to find Zitao regarding him with a thoughtful expression.  
  
“He was in high school, and you were probably still in college. He told me you didn’t remember him.” Zitao taps his chin with a finger, and winks. “Something tells me Jongin was wrong.”  
  
Kyungsoo did in fact start to remember, that one time he couldn’t help but straighten out Jongin’s room when he peeked inside and saw the bed sheets strewn all over the floor. The old, grainy photo of a construction sign at West 14th Street felt different from all the stuff Jongin had pinned on his corkboard, and Kyungsoo couldn’t pinpoint the exact reason why it looked so strange to him.  
  
Then, there was that vivid dream Kyungsoo once had.  
  
Everything came to him soon after that. And when they went to an outfitter store in late April and Jongin bought a pair of maroon sneakers cut low enough to reveal bony ankles, Kyungsoo knew.  
  
“I wasn’t sure before,” Kyungsoo says, running a hand through his hair repeatedly. He didn’t want Jongin to know that he remembered, since it would mean admitting that he forgot about it when Jongin hadn’t even — “How could two people meet again in this city?”  
  
“Destiny,” Zitao teases with a feline smirk. “Sorry, I don’t know either. Whatever it was, Jongin’s definitely more than glad to have found you again.”  
  
Kyungsoo places a palm to his forehead. He’s exhausted. “He’s got a really good memory,” he mutters.  
  
Zitao laughs freely. “The thing with you is that you don’t even count all the good things you’ve done. You only remember the bad stuff.”  
  
It’s been more than three minutes. Kyungsoo leaps from his seat and checks the tea in the kettle. The chai leaves are soaked through, and Kyungsoo pours a cup for his guest with a squint of lemon.   
  
Zitao pulls back and curls up his thin lips into a smile in almost the same way Jongdae does. He takes a sip of the tea, and then cackles. “It took loads of ice to soothe Jongin’s ego when you didn’t recognize him right away,” Zitao says.   
  
Kyungsoo wrings his wrist. “He could’ve just told me who he was.”  
  
“Where is the fun in that? All the magic would’ve been gone.” Zitao laughs again.   
  
Kyungsoo pins him with a stare. “You were being too humble,” he says. “You speak really good Korean.” There’s no hesitation in Zitao’s syllables when he utters them, not in the way Kyungsoo has noticed when they first met.  
  
Zitao grins, preening. “I have improved. What can I say? My boyfriend’s the best.”  
  
Kyungsoo fights a scowl and opts to press his lips on the rim of his cup. The tea swims in his mouth in an almost nauseating way. “Do you have something else to say, then?” he sulks. “It seems that you aren’t finished.”   
  
“In China, when an in-law scolds you, it means they care about you a lot.” Zitao titters. “Jongin’s my best friend, and I’m also his gēge. I don’t like seeing him sad. His face always does this thing when he’s trying hard not to cry, like—” 

“A squashed paper cup,” Kyungsoo supplies, voice soft. “Or a sedan crushed into a tin can.” He sighs in his tea cup and takes his seat again. “Yeah, I know.”  
  
Zitao purses his lips in thought. “I was going to say something else, but in Chinese, so I guess that works.” He stretches out his long, lean legs, his black jeans decorated with jagged holes at the knees. “And  _you’re_  my gēge. I don’t like seeing you sad either.”  
  
“It isn’t me you have to worry about,” Kyungsoo says. He’s going to get used to it, having this feeling settling in his gut like lead, just like the last time. “I want Jongin to be happy too. That’s why… that’s why I gave him up.”  
  
Zitao immediately straightens. “Gave him up? For your fear?”  
  
Kyungsoo doesn’t reply.   
  
Zitao grows quiet too, until he says, “Keeping a distance, acting indifferent… You can’t nurse heartbreak like this. It’s like telling Jongin you love him when he’s not there to hear you.” He smiles. “You’re going to have to do something else.”  
  
Kyungsoo hurriedly puts his empty tea cup down on the table. His fingers are trembling. “I didn’t want to tell Jongin at first.” He lets out a breath. “That I had really complicated feelings for him. For both our sakes. But he was a little… overwhelming.”   
  
Zitao pours himself another cup. Some of it spills to the table, and he wipes the golden liquid off with his palm. “He really wanted to repay you, you know,” the other man starts. “For helping him on that street. Perhaps it was no big deal, to you, but Jongin was grateful. Is grateful. He really liked you.” His gaze settles on the tiny, white smoke coming out from the pot of chai-tea. “It was a bummer when you didn’t recognize him, but in the end, he felt that it’d make things easier for him. Jongin thought that if he got even with you, he could finally get his heart back from someone who never knew he had it.”

Zitao shrugs. “Maybe I’m exaggerating. It was probably just a simple crush. Still, Jongin does love a bit too intensely for his own good.”  
  
“I noticed,” Kyungsoo says.  
  
“But we’re both sure now that what Jongin is feeling towards you isn’t the same thing he felt when he was seventeen. It’s not infatuation, not anymore,” Zitao says with a stronger voice. “Not everyone can move on, Kyungsoo. Some people aren’t brave and selfish enough to do that. Jongin will never get over you, and you won’t either.”  
  
Kyungsoo spends his time folding and unfolding his hands, keeping them steady. His head throbs and his chest hurts. “You want me to do something,” he says. “Only I’m not sure what it is that you want me to do.”   
  
“Make him yours,” Zitao intones, and Kyungsoo whips his head up to look at him. “But first, you have to return his calls and his text messages. Don’t let it pile up or it’ll burst.”  
  
His throat clogged, Kyungsoo nods stiffly in answer.  
  
Zitao smiles at him winningly. “You must really miss him a lot.”  
  
For a moment, Kyungsoo pictures Jongin sitting right next to his friend on the sofa, laughing deep and warm at some joke. There’s that big dip in his breastbone again, making some sort of cracking sound, but Kyungsoo’s the only one who can hear it.   
  
“I do,” Kyungsoo says. He reaches out for the ceramic pot, and Zitao hands it to him without another word.

****

  
  
  
Chuseok feels different when it’s celebrated in America, and it’s probably the reason why Kyungsoo tolerates it to some extent. Japan usually rakes in fierce typhoons during August and September, most of the time passing on the rain and sadness to Korea.  
  
As Yuri grinds the sesame seeds for the rice cakes, Kyungsoo cooks the noodles and steams the beef. The sleeves of his sweater are too long, so he pulls them up to his elbows. He pokes the marinated chicken breast with a finger, checking if it’s soaked up really well, and dumps it in a separate plate where he can evenly smear the flour all over it.  
  
When he’s washing the lettuce, Sunjae stands next to him, tugging at the tail end of his sweater. “Ahjussi,” he says. “Are you going to stay for long?”  
  
Yuri pauses from molding her rice cakes and gives her son a stern look. “Sunjae-ah, stop calling Kyungsoo that. Call him hyung.”  
  
“It’s fine, noona,” Kyungsoo says, and turns to face Sunjae, craning his neck down. “Well, how long is long for you?”  
  
“You can sleep in my room,” Sunjae quips, face alight.  
  
Kyungsoo chuckles. He switches the tap off and ruffles the boy’s hair. “Sorry, kid. I really can’t stay for long.” He has always felt uncomfortable being inside his parents’ house, especially during Chuseok. Even if Sunjae’s room used to be Kyungsoo’s, Kyungsoo would feel choked, once he stepped inside. There are a lot of things inside that Kyungsoo doesn’t want to see. Doesn’t want to remember.   
  
Sunjae whines. “But I wanted to talk to you about something, ahju—” He pauses when Yuri makes a shrill, disapproving noise. “Kyungsoo hyung.”  
  
“You can tell me right now,” Kyungsoo responds. “I can cook and listen.”  
  
Sunjae’s ears turn pink at the ends. He opens his mouth, closes it, and opens it once more. “But she’s here,” he whispers, glancing at Yuri sideways.  
  
“Don’t mind her. She’s not important,” Kyungsoo says, and Yuri laughs and reaches over the kitchen table to give Kyungsoo a good whack on the shoulder. “Pretend your mom isn’t here. What is it, Sunjae?”  
  
Sunjae pulls — harder — at Kyungsoo’s sweater. He frowns. “I — I want to grow up just like you, Kyungsoo hyung,” he says. “So can you show me how?”  
  
Kyungsoo freezes, before turning the tap on again. He peels the lettuce with his fingers. “That’s… what do you mean?” He closes his eyes briefly, before opening them again and sneaking a glance at Sunjae.  
  
Sunjae is staring up at him now with something swimming in his eyes. “I want to be a filmmaker too,” he says, cupping his hand to his mouth in a murmur. “I want to be someone like you, hyung.”  
  
_Someone like me?_  
  
Kyungsoo chews on his upper lip. He can feel Yuri’s eyes on him, buzzing and terrifying. He tries to think of something, something nice. “Do you… do you really want to be one?”  
  
“Yes!” Sunjae claps. “Rather than acting on stage, I want to be the one in charge!”  
  
Kyungsoo hopes his smile doesn’t look jagged when he suddenly feels his breakfast settle at the bottom of his stomach. “Okay. One thing’s for sure — if you want to be a filmmaker, you need to make a good story first.”  
  
“A story?”  
  
Kyungsoo nods. “They come hand in hand,” he says. He washes his fingers and dries it with a towel. “I think… I think I have something that might help.”  
  
He exits the kitchen and searches for the bag he discarded in the living room. He finds it at the foot of the couch, right next to the paper bag of tea leaves he brought from his apartment. He pulls down the zipper, pauses, then wraps his fingers around the spine of the book. Kyungsoo hands it to Sunjae, and Sunjae glances at it with a slight tilt of the head.  
  
“What’s this?” Sunjae says while leafing through the pages. He points at the rabbit. “Who’s this?”  
  
“That —” Kyungsoo closes his bag. He straightens up from his crouch, and flashes Sunjae a grin. “Is Edward Tulane, and the book is his story. He’s a pretty fine toy rabbit, in my opinion.”  
  
“Is the story nice?”  
  
“Of course,” Kyungsoo says. “A friend recommended that to me. It’s got a happy ending.”  
  
Sunjae tucks it under his arm. “I’ll read it then, ahju — hyung.” He beams. “I like happy endings.”  
  
The clatter of chopsticks and ensuring everyone has a taste of everything keep Kyungsoo preoccupied during dinner. He listens to Yuri’s stories about her job at the pharmacy and Hyerin’s complaints about cutting their trip to Montauk short because of the sudden summer storm. Sunjae has  _The Miraculous Journey_  opened on his lap, reading silently as he nibbles on the carrot sticks, and Kyungsoo taps him on the knee twice so that the boy would keep the book away until dinner ends.  
  
It’s eight o’ clock when Kyungsoo decides to go home. At the doorstep, he checks if he has enough money for a taxi, deciding that he’s too tired to take a bus or a subway. Chuseok always drains the life out of him every year.  
  
“Need change?” Yuri asks, placing a soothing hand on his shoulder.  
  
“Nah, I think I’m good.” Kyungsoo stuffs his wallet back in his bag. He peeks at her face, sees that expression she wears every time Kyungsoo leaves for Alphabet City, and looks down on the Welcome mat, laughing stiltedly. “Noona, don’t be so worried. I’m already twenty-nine.”  
  
Yuri sighs. “I know. But no matter what, I can’t help but see that hint of that quiet, college freshman I saw in the living room playing with Baekhyunnie. You’re family too.” She sweeps away Kyungsoo’s bangs, pulling them back. She’s done it so many times in the years they’ve known each other that Kyungsoo doesn’t flinch anymore. “You’re such a sweet person, Kyungsoo. Don’t you know that?”  
  
Kyungsoo gives her a tiny smile. “You’re the only one who says that, but thanks.”  
  
Yuri withdraws her hand. There’s a contemplative look in her brown eyes. “Baekhyun came last week,” she says. “To visit.”  
  
Kyungsoo’s arms grow limp and fall to his sides. “W-what?”  _Baekhyun?_  “But he never—”  
  
“I was surprised too, but you know. Baekhyun manages to surprise me every time, so I guess it’s nothing to dwell on. He’s with Taeyeon’s family for Chuseok, so he couldn’t come today.” Yuri glances up towards the boombox on the shelf. “He mentioned something. About the film.”  
  
“And?”  
  
“The festival. You won in all six cities,” Yuri says, her lips twitching after to form a huge smile.  
  
Kyungsoo brushes his fingers against his nape. “It was nothing.”   
  
Yuri seems to understand it, the way she only does. “You don’t want to make a big deal out of it, I know.” She laughs. “But it is, even if you don’t want to make it so. Baekhyun was  _glowing_  when he told me.”  
  
“Right.”  
  
“You need financing to join the awards’ night for all six,” Yuri says, serious now, and Kyungsoo dares to peek at her again by the corner of his eye. She must’ve sensed Kyungsoo’s bewilderment, and adds, “Baekhyun told me you weren’t expecting to be selected by the panel to show in all cities, so you budgeted for New York City only. That’s why your hands are tied.”  
  
“Tied to where?” Kyungsoo says in exasperation. “You’re the fourth person this week who tried to convince me, noona. I’m sorry, but I really don’t know how I can —”  
  
“Check your bank account later,” Yuri cuts in, giving him a meaningful look. “Tonight, if you want.”   
  
“Noona —?”  
  
“You didn’t think we’d spend all the money you gave us every month, did you?” Her voice is gentle and kind, and it makes Kyungsoo think of his own mother, cooking porridge and tea whenever Kyungsoo’s struck with a fever. “I had some of it stocked, just in case.”  
  
Kyungsoo blinks many times before clearing his throat. “But I sent it for you… for the kids…”  
  
There’s a flush in Yuri cheeks when she smiles wider. “Who’s the one who needs it the most now?” She pats Kyungsoo’s shoulder once more, picking off the lint as she goes. “Not everything will fall into place, Kyungsoo, so you  _have_  to take this. Take this and run away with it. Your parents are so proud of you.”  
  
“How would you know?” Kyungsoo says to no one in particular.  
  
Yuri pulls him into a tight hug. “I wish I could do everything to make you feel better,” she murmurs. The warmth of her fingers seeps to Kyungsoo’s sweater and clings to his skin. “I wish you wouldn’t be so lonely anymore.”  
  
Kyungsoo shakes his head. “I’m not lonely,” he chokes out. “I mean, I’m trying not to be.”  
  
“Go get him,” Yuri says with resolve. “You’re going to have to take a risk, but it’ll be worth it.”  
  
“You’re the seventh person this week who has told me that,” Kyungsoo responds, and that extracts a chuckle from Yuri as they break apart. Kyungsoo has never learned to love without hurting. He hates that, but it’s really all about risks. “I’ll… I’ll make it work.”   
  
Yuri bids him goodbye when he steps out of the porch, and the late summer air that adds up to the residual warmth has Kyungsoo feeling considerably lighter.

****

  
  
  
Chanyeol and Sehun drop him off at West 33rd. “Hyung, don’t you want us to accompany you?” Sehun says. His eyebrows are knitted together, and his nose is wrinkled in disapproval. He’s on the passenger seat, hand being squeezed by Chanyeol’s hand, the one that isn’t grasping the steering wheel.   
  
Kyungsoo averts his gaze to the tinted windows. “You don’t have to,” he says quietly.   
  
Chanyeol and Sehun share a look, before they let Kyungsoo go.  
  
The entire 7th Avenue is brighter than Alphabet City. He knows that by night, it’s even brighter, more colorful, with the combined scent of honey-roasted nuts, corndogs, and pizza mantling the one-way road. Kyungsoo navigates through the yellow cabs and pedestrians that are scurrying towards the subway, and he waits for the limousine to pass before he shuffles towards Madison Square.  
  
A lot of people are pouring out from the station exits, from the taxis parked near the dining pavilion of Penn Plaza. Under the shelter of the station facade, Kyungsoo studies the smooth flapping of the American flags of the hotel complex as he waits for Zitao to show up.  
  
When Kyungsoo rips his gaze away from the ginormous American Outfitters ad, he sees the younger man. Zitao’s jeans are ripped in all the flattering areas, and his sleek, black biker jacket hugs his arms well. His cigarette is almost out.  
  
“Should we…?” Kyungsoo trails off. Now that he’s here, it’s finally dawning on him that the whole plan is ridiculous. It’s silly – Jongin probably doesn’t even want him here.   
  
“Don’t think about his family, Kyungsoo,” Zitao says. “You’re here for Jonginnie, and for Jonginnie only.”  
  
Kyungsoo can see the Empire State Building, from where he’s standing. It’s bigger than in the pictures. Jongin had made fun of the fact that Kyungsoo had never had a glimpse of the famous skyscraper despite living in New York City for a decade. And here he is now, craning his neck up and seeing it for the first time. Kyungsoo feels so small, and he doesn’t know how to make himself be significant.  
  
“Don’t worry about getting caught. You won’t,” Zitao assures him, misreading Kyungsoo’s expression. He tugs on Kyungsoo’s overcoat. “Come on.”  
  
It’s an easy slip. Zitao’s friends with the managing editor of the school’s student-run newspaper, and they’re inside the theater once their press passes are cleared by the officials. Kyungsoo gives Zitao a sidelong glance as they take a seat at the left box area, cocking an eyebrow.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Aren’t we a bit too close?” Kyungsoo says through gritted teeth. The students with their flowing purple togas file in column 205, smiling among themselves and chattering excitedly. He can already imagine Jongin in his own toga, grinning like an idiot at the stage ahead. It makes Kyungsoo sweat all over, thinking that they’re in the same room.  
  
Zitao titters. “Relax. You look young enough to be a writer for the  _NYU Local_. Or a news kid from  _Washington Square_.” He pats Kyungsoo’s shoulder. “You don’t stand out. Besides, didn’t you want this? You asked for my help.”  
  
Kyungsoo sighs. “Thank you, Zitao,” he says. “For everything.”  
  
“Don’t thank me just yet,” Zitao murmurs.  
  
Kyungsoo’s commencement six years ago had been much less grand. The student population was small, and the ceremony had been held in their domed gymnasium. There were no streaming yellow lights or a decorated stage like here in Madison’s. He hadn’t attended the university-wide commencement that was held at the Yankee Stadium, since that was the day the hospital called about his dad.   
  
Kyungsoo’s sure he didn’t miss out, though. Huge crowds make him edgy.  
  
He’s jolted back to the present when the college dean starts her speech. There are a total of 947 graduates to be called on stage to get their diplomas, she says, and that she’s immensely proud to be part of the nurturing process of the students.   
  
“But the battle is not finished yet. That long line in Starbucks at 45 West 4th isn’t the final hayday. Things don’t end here, in college,” she says. “Get a master’s, get your doctoral. Post-doc. Travel. It’s a never ending cycle of knowledge. Every day, you will learn something new. Feel something new.”   
  
She realigns her wireframes which have slipped to the edge of her nose and smiles at the graduates. “Remember how it feels like to be here, to be on stage. Capture the wonder of accomplishing something and sharing it with the world. And I’m positive that you bright kids, me, the rest of the faculty – we’ll see each other again.”  
  
The Alumni speech is so excruciatingly long that Kyungsoo stops paying attention and nods off somewhere at a quarter of it. He wakes up when Zitao stabs him with his press pass around the end of the valedictorian speech.   
  
Zitao’s eyes twinkle with amusement under the lights. “I haven’t seen the program line-up,” he whispers in Kyungsoo’s ear. “So pay attention.”  
  
“Right,” Kyungsoo utters under his breath. Still, he straightens his back against the seat and focuses on the stage.  
  
Fighting the urge to sleep is difficult with the AC and the graduation march lulling him as he blinks at every toga that sweeps in on the stage. He taps his fingers on the arm rest, opting to drink up the assortment of flowers bordering the front of the theater.  
  
They start calling off the names of the creative writing students, and Kyungsoo’s eyes snap to his right. He stiffens.  
  
A Professor Mallory or Marlowe something clears his throat audibly at the microphone. “Jongin Kim,” he announces.  
  
Zitao laughs under his breath. “Fuck, they always make our names sound so weird.”  
  
Kyungsoo doesn’t answer.   
  
Jongin glides on the stage, grinning from ear to ear. He probably left his cap on his seat, and his hair is a soft kind of brown, silky and lustrous, nothing like the unbeatable mess during Monday mornings after an all-nighter of cramming papers. His black slacks, the one they bought at Screaming Mimi’s, peek out from under the purple robes. They’re perfect, falling just right on Jongin’s thin ankles.   
  
Jongin takes two diplomas from the beaming dean, one for dance and one for creative writing. An alumnus of their CAS hangs a bronze medal around Jongin’s neck for his acclaimed journal entry or for being a stellar student of NYU-CW. Kyungsoo isn’t sure which. Maybe it’s both. The award is something Kyungsoo can’t pronounce, something in Greek or Latin.  
  
Jongin turns to the front and bows. He’s still smiling, and the beams of light fall exactly at all the right angles, making his face, his golden skin, shine. Kyungsoo’s heart clenches, before leaping up to his throat, and there’s a massive, massive blockage in his lungs somewhere, that he can’t breathe.  
  
“Are you okay?” Zitao’s hushed voice breaks through the barrier of Kyungsoo’s thoughts. “You look…”  
  
Kyungsoo’s hand clutches on the armrest. “I’m fine. I’m just…”  
  
Zitao makes a muted hum in understanding. “Happy,” he says. The rings on his ear glint against the yellow lights. “Proud.”  
  
“Yeah,” Kyungsoo answers, his gaze following Jongin’s lithe steps as he exits. Jongin hugs his parents tight, who were waiting for him at the left wing. Mrs. Kim cries. “That.”  
  
The ceremony continues for everybody, but it stops for Kyungsoo. He waits until the colors aren’t so vivid anymore, slipping back to their usual washed out print, the way Kyungsoo saw them when he first entered. He scrawls circle patterns on his palm, and in half an hour more, it ends.  
  
Zitao regards him for a moment as he stands. “You’re not going to talk to him, are you?”  
  
“No.” Kyungsoo jerks his legs, trying to get the blood circulating in them again. He’s been sitting for so long. “I’ll… I’ll just call him. Later, I guess.” He licks his lips. “Thanks, Zitao. Really. You’re a great friend.”  
  
The crowd buzzes as the aisles thicken with people, the lights glare from above, and Zitao’s face turns serious. “Jongin would love it more if he sees you,” he says, hesitating a bit. “It’s his day. You’re not supposed to run.”  
  
Kyungsoo looks over to his left. Purple banderitas and purple caps. Group hugs, laughter, tears of joy. Sadness and happiness and love mingling in the air. “This isn’t exactly my crowd,” he mutters. “I’ll stand out if I go to him. Besides, Jongin’s whole family is here. His friends are here. He’s preoccupied right now.”  
  
Zitao’s eyes soften. “Alright. Just… call him and tell him you came. He’ll really appreciate it.”  
  
Kyungsoo nods and leaves, maneuvering his way through the aisles. The stairways are too narrow, and he trips on a graduation cap and his hip bumps on an armrest as he scrambles along. He’s at the mezzanine where the aisles are a lot less congested, when he unpockets his phone. There’s a message from Sehun, wishing him luck.  
  
_You’re not supposed to run._  
  
Kyungsoo almost decides to send a text instead, but his finger has already pressed the ‘call’ button.   
  
It rings.  
  
Kyungsoo takes a deep breath. He’s close to vomiting.  
  
“Hyung?” Jongin sounds more than surprised. “Kyungsoo hyung?”  
  
Kyungsoo feels electricity jolt through his fingers. His free hand flies to his chest to gauge the rapid beating. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s me.” He’s out of the theater now. All he needs to do is to find the exit for 7th street. “Hi, Jongin.”  _Ga-glump. Ga-glump._  
  
Jongin talks slower than Kyungsoo is used to, like he’s savoring it. “This is the first time you called me. I’m… I’m not sure what this means.”  
  
“Quit overthinking things.” Kyungsoo gets lost under all the energy and people. He almost crashes onto a tall man carrying an extra-large soda and popcorn. There must be a game today in the stadium.   
  
“H-hey,” Jongin says. “Where are you right now, exactly? I can hear…”  
  
Not so far from Kyungsoo is a gaggle of graduates crowing the NYU Fight Song. He follows them, thinking that they’ll lead him to the exits. He catches a guy eating tacos giving him an odd look.  
  
“You looked great up there, Jongin,” Kyungsoo says. “You did it. I’m really happy for you.”  
  
Jongin’s voice cackles. The reception in this level sucks.  _You came_  are the only words Kyungsoo managed to make out.  
  
“Zitao helped. Thank your friend for me, would you?” Kyungsoo says, trying for a laugh. He spots the room with a two-hundred square foot screen on the ceiling. He remembers going through here with Zitao. He saunters forward, arrives at the enormous entranceway, and then takes the escalator down.   
  
“Hyung!” Jongin says, voice blasting in Kyungsoo’s ears now that he’s through the glass doors. “Stop!” Somebody calls out  _“Jongin, where are you going?”_  through the receiver.   
  
“Hey, Jongin-ah. Stay where you are,” Kyungsoo says frantically.  
  
“No! I want to see you!” A rustle of cloth. A sudden, sharp intake of air. Kyungsoo realizes with a start that Jongin’s running.  
  
“Jongin, wait! Stop!” Kyungsoo exclaims. He runs a hand through his hair as the blood drains out of his face. “Your family –”  
  
“I need to see you, Kyungsoo,” Jongin gasps, and Kyungsoo’s thoughts scatter at the sound of his name, at the note of heartache in Jongin’s voice. “It’s been two months. I need to see you.”  
  
The sun is too bright when Kyungsoo walks out. He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. “Not now,” Kyungsoo says, after he’s opened his eyes. “Not right now. I just came and called to wish you congrats. We’ll see each other again but… not right now.”  
  
“Why not?” Jongin grills, petulant. “Why not now?”  
  
“I’m already outside, Jongin. I’m really happy for you, okay?”  
  
“Don’t go yet, hyung!” Jongin says. “If I don’t see you, I’ll —”  
  
“I’d kiss you, Jongin, if I see you. I wouldn’t even care if people saw,” Kyungsoo promises, his voice strained. “I’d make a scene. I’d kiss you in front of everybody, your family, your friends.” He rakes in a breath. “I’d kiss you in front of that editor from Penguin Publishing sitting on the front row, and claim that you’re mine. I’d embarrass you, humiliate you,  _destroy_  you, if it means that I won’t have to share you with anyone else.”  
  
Jongin makes a quivering noise. “Hyung…”  
  
“Not now, Jongin. Not when I’m still capable of breaking you,” Kyungsoo tells him in what he hopes is a soothing tone.   
  
Jongin’s voice is wobbly, “I know you said that I shouldn’t wait, but I am.” A loud sniffle. “And then you came today. What am I… what am I supposed to think?”  
  
“You shouldn’t be waiting.” Kyungsoo swallows thickly. “I haven’t changed my mind.”  
  
“But it hurts, not seeing you,” Jongin mutters. He’s out of breath. “It really hurts. I want to see you every day roaming around the living room. I want to come home and see your hideous shoes on the rack next to the coat stand. I want to talk to you for hours, day and night, like we did. I want you to muss up my hair and wipe the sauce out of my mouth and laugh at my jokes. I want to hug you, kiss you, every day, for the rest of my life, until I can’t breathe — I want  _all_  of you, hyung. All of it. I love you.” He makes a low, raspy sound. “I love you so much.”  
  
Kyungsoo tries to hail a cab and fails. When he notices how much his arm is shaking, he lets it limp down to his side in defeat. A woman in a pristine suit a few yards behind him snags the ride out of his grasp.  
  
“It really hurts,” Jongin whispers again.   
  
Kyungsoo’s heart aches horribly, treacherously, in return. “I told you so, didn’t I? You never listened.” When he realizes how biting it sounds, he makes up for it by saying, “But I love you too, and I miss you. That’s what’s important.” He steadies his hand and tries to signal another cab. “You got that, alright?”  
  
“Okay,” Jongin replies. Kyungsoo pictures him nodding, taking in quiet, steadying breaths.  
  
“You can trust me, Jongin-ah. I think… I really think it’s better this way,” Kyungsoo says. “I’ll come see you, sometime. Okay?”  
  
Jongin doesn’t respond.   
  
“Maybe I’ll see you at a book launch or something,” Kyungsoo amends. “You’ll sign my copy, right?”  
  
Jongin laughs brokenly. “Of course.”  
  
Kyungsoo pauses, feeling the courage slowly drain from his hands, and then says, “We’ll be fine, don’t worry.” A cab stops in front of him, and Kyungsoo hurriedly throws the door open. He might’ve seen a swath of purple with a mess of chestnut hair and tan skin near the doors. He ducks his head as he enters.   
  
“Hyung!” Jongin yells, voice hitching. “Wait —”  
  
“I love you, Jongin. Let’s meet again,” Kyungsoo says, before he slams his phone and the door of the taxi shut. He doesn’t dare peek at the back window and instead plonks his sweaty, aching head on the fiber seat. His heart is beating too fucking fast.  
  
The driver glances at him by the rearview mirror. “Some lunatic chasing after ya?”  
  
Kyungsoo wipes his forehead with a handkerchief. “Umm, not really. He’s not a lunatic.”  
  
“I hope I’m not harboring a criminal, then.” The man lets out a booming laugh at his own joke, and Kyungsoo does his best to hide the strain in his smile.

 

****

  
  
“Are we really going?”  
  
“Yes!” Kyungsoo snaps, when Baekhyun asks for the nth time. “We got the money, all thanks to you mucking it up to your sister-in-law.”  
  
“Hey, I  _had_  to,” Baekhyun shoots back. “It’s your hard-earned money in the first place, and we need it.”  
  
Kyungsoo clenches his fist and punches Baekhyun in the arm. They cross the street when the stoplight turns green, and Baekhyun makes soft, kitten noises when a lovely tabby cat bunts against his jeans. Kyungsoo leaves him there at the sidewalk to flirt and enters the bank.   
  
He proceeds to check his account.  _$63,542.89._  
  
Kyungsoo blinks. Five times.  
  
“Hey.” Baekhyun waves his fingers over Kyungsoo’s face. “You alright?”  
  
Kyungsoo’s reply dies in his throat, and he’s rummaging through his coat pockets for his phone. As he scrolls down his contacts, Baekhyun makes a loud, victorious cry beside him.  
  
“Holy shit!” Baekhyun exclaims.  
  
Yuri picks up at the third ring. “Hello?”  
  
“Noona, what’s the meaning of this?” Kyungsoo says, his eyes glued to the white numbers on the screen. $63,543.89. “The money — it’s too —”  
  
“Huge, right?” Yuri chuckles. “And to think that’s only a fraction of the money you gave us all these years.”  
  
Baekhyun flicks him repeatedly on the ear. “Put on the loudspeaker, Soo,” he demands. “I want to hear.”  
  
“Shut up, Baekhyun,” Kyungsoo growls.   
  
Yuri’s delighted laugh comes from the other end of the line. “Oh, is Baekhyunnie there?” she says. “Hi, Baekhyunnie! Bring your fiancé over here sometime so we can finally talk!”  
  
“Yuri noona,” Kyungsoo interrupts, diverting the conversation back. “Come on, I can’t accept this. This is too much!”  
  
Yuri laughs even more. “That’s my line, Kyungsoo.”  
  
“Noona, this is for your family,” Kyungsoo insists. “I promised Seungsoo hyung that I’d look after you and the twins, and this is the only way I know how. I can’t take this. I don’t want to take this.”  
  
“Frankly, we don’t need your help. We’re already fine.” Yuri sighs. “I knew you were going to be like this. But just this once, Kyungsoo. Just this once. Let  _me_  feel like I’m being what I’m supposed to be,” she chides gently. “I’m seven years older than you, Kyungsoo, and I’m a mother. Make me feel like I’m the one taking care of you, instead of the other way around.”  
  
Kyungsoo’s mouth goes completely dry. Calling him once a week, asking him to eat with them for the holidays, letting him interact with Hyerin and Sunjae, even if he had been involved in that accident with their dad. Every visit, every warm cup of white tea, every Chuseok — it’s a taste of a family Kyungsoo once had.

 

“You’ve always taken care of me,” Kyungsoo mumbles.  
  
There’s a pleased note in Yuri’s voice when she replies, registering that Kyungsoo has already yielded. “Well, then. Let me take care of you more.”  
  
Kyungsoo’s throat is tight when he hangs up.

****

  
  
  
Junmyeon smirks at him. It’s a weird look. Junmyeon almost never smirks. “You’re pitiful, Kyungsoo,” he declares. “If you’re going to resort to stalking him, just ask Chanyeol and I’m sure he’ll give you some pointers.”  
  
Kyungsoo sighs and pushes the coconut smoothie towards Junmyeon’s side. It tastes like talc. “They told you, didn’t they?”  
  
“The love birds blabbed to Baekhyun, and Baekhyun blabbed to me,” Junmyeon says before chuckling good-naturedly. “I think it’s cute that you went to see Jongin, but you can’t possibly do that every time, right? That would be downright creepy, I have to say.”  
  
“He’s handsome, talented, and disgustingly sweet. He has a posh family and a big publishing house backing him up too,” Kyungsoo says. “He’ll be famous soon. It’ll be like running into a movie star down at Beverly’s.”  
  
“And aren’t you going to be famous too?” Junmyeon beams at him. “Six cities, Kyungsoo. It’s incredible. Even I wasn’t expecting that.”  
  
“I couldn’t have done it without you,” Kyungsoo says.   
  
A group of five enters the restaurant, a mother, a father, and two kids. The children are lightly bickering, and the mom looks over them fondly as the dad talks to the waiter handing them the menu.   
  
Kyungsoo averts his eyes to look back at Junmyeon. “It’s stupid that you can only make it to London.”  
  
“Parents,” Junmyeon says, laughing again after. “You know how they can get.”  
  
Kyungsoo pushes the slice of beef off of the broccoli with his fork. “That job in your company is wearing you down,” he says, matter-of-factly. “Your skin looks sallow.”  
  
“I’m not worried. Yifan still thinks I’m hot.”  
  
Kyungsoo rolls his eyes. “Hyung, you’re so old. Don’t say things like that.”  
  
“How is thirty-one any different from twenty-nine?” Junmyeon grins. “You know, Yifan is older than me for about a year, but he says weirder stuff.”  
  
Kyungsoo’s mildly surprised. He’s always thought that Junmyeon was older than his boyfriend by around, say, ten years. “How did you two meet, anyway?”  
  
Junmyeon thinks about it. “At work,” he then replies. “I was doing something for my folks. Managerial stuff. Yifan was a fresh grad from China. He was great in English but awful in Korean. So naturally, he was assigned to me.”  
  
“You’re good at that,” Kyungsoo agrees. “With the lost flocks.”  
  
“He flirts like a school girl,” Junmyeon says with poorly repressed glee. His eyes disappear when his huge cheeks engulf it as he smiles. “With someone who has zero experience in dating, it worked on me. He’s a nice guy, overall. Only I’m not supposed to be into nice guys. Or guys in general.”  
  
Kyungsoo scratches his neck with his index finger, looking down at his plate. He cringes at the memory of Junmyeon’s purple-blue eye. “Right,” he mutters.  
  
“I haven’t figured out how it works yet,” Junmyeon tells him, eyes contemplative. “How a person gets to like someone. Does our subconscious choose for us, or is it something else?”  
  
“I don’t know, hyung,” Kyungsoo says. “The metaphysical is somewhat beyond me.”  
  
“When my parents found out and I had to break up with Yifan for a while, it really tore me down. It’s remarkable that you can feel for someone so strongly that you’d want to defy the odds. Thinking you can’t live without him…” Junmyeon clucks his tongue.   
  
“Is not exactly true,” Kyungsoo says, his heart heavy. “If the bed is too big, you can always sleep in the middle and put pillows to fill in the gaps. It won’t be so bad if you make it a habit.”  
  
Junmyeon spreads his palms flat on the table napkin. “Most of the time, creatures of habit are lonely people.” He shrugs, and passes Kyungsoo the pepper.

 

****

  
_my soul is hungry for your_ _  
_demise, for the taste of seawater_  
_as it laps on your feet, on our feet_  
  
_i am hungry for my demise_  
_as I wait for the rain to stop shining_  
_through the glass window_  
  
_for my demise to come as soon as_  
_the sun stops pounding on_  
_clay roof tiles – it will all stop_  
_stop, if your demise comes, for mine_  
_will surely follow. the sand waits_  
_for the water to claim__  
  
Kyungsoo doesn’t miss the snugness in his chest. He’d been expecting it, of course. He’ll write it down on a memo pad once he gets home and stuff it with his growing collection of Jongin’s poems.   
  
He types a reply as soon as the tightness abates,  _Good morning to you too, dummy. Have fun on your 23rd day at work. It’s a shit poem btw. Work on that_ , and hits send.  
  
When Lilibeth finishes bagging all his things, she jerks her finger at Kyungsoo’s Motorola. “You should get a new one, Mr. Do,” she says. “The keypad is falling off.”  
  
Kyungsoo shrugs and shoves the handset inside his front pocket. “It’s not broken entirely,” he says, and Lilibeth smiles at him.  
  
The paper bags settle heavy on the basket when he sets them down, and it takes a while for him to balance himself on the bike before he pedals. His mood lulls when he sees the blue sky. Autumn will soon end, and it’ll be winter. Kyungsoo will have to savor the remaining days before it gets too cold for him to hold the handlebars without gloves or mittens.   
  
There’s a strange gust of wind that picks up when he courses through Avenue B. He stops at the gate of Tompkins, letting the air skim through his hair and brush his chapped lips as he catches his breath.   
  
His phone vibrates. There’re two messages that just came in. The first one is from Baekhyun:  _Mom says ty u dolt_  
  
Mrs. Byun was discharged yesterday, and Kyungsoo had helped Baekhyun load the wheelchair at the back of the cab.   
  
He smiles, and checks the other message.  _Hyung, what are you doing right now?_  
  
Kyungsoo’s eyebrows come together for a moment, before he replies:  _Bought groceries._  He mounts the bike again when he gains enough strength, and courses through East 6th Street.  
  
He parks his bike in the alley, and picks up his things. He maneuvers his way around the green truck that has its right front wheel perched on the edge of the sidewalk, hoping he doesn’t trip on a crevice and break the dozen eggs in his arms. The gate easily swings open when he enters.  
  
The stairs aren’t creaking as much since Kyungsoo coated motor oil at the hinges on Tuesday, and it’s good. It would’ve irritated the hell out of him while he’s carrying the bags of groceries that almost cover his eyes.   
  
He’s arrived at the end of the stairwell, when a voice says, “Do you need some help with that?”  
  
Kyungsoo pauses briefly, and replies with a curt, “No, thank you”. The paper bags are almost crushed underneath his fingers, the seams ripping apart. He launches forward to Unit 3, and he feels the man follow him from behind.  
  
“Hyung.”   
  
The word has Kyungsoo’s free hand going cold and still over the doorknob as his other hand struggles with keeping everything upright.  
  
“Hyung,” Jongin repeats, louder. He’s laughing when Kyungsoo dares to look over his shoulder, eyes crinkling into those same crescent moons Kyungsoo had always lov – “Kyungsoo hyung.”  
  
“What?” Kyungsoo says. His whole body trembles, threatening to give, either from the weight of the groceries or from the swift ripple of emotion that slices through his chest.  
  
In his haste, he hadn’t noticed that the door of Unit 4 was wide open.   
  
Jongin gingerly takes two of the four of the bags, still chuckling. His eyes are so bright. “The refrigerator is this way, down the hall,” he says, craning his neck to the general direction. He beams. “You can’t put beef and celery in your cupboard.”  
  
Kyungsoo’s tongue feels thick. “Y-yeah. Silly,” he murmurs. He follows Jongin back to the stairwell. The CCTV still has a clear vantage point of the fridge.  
  
He watches by the side, dumbfounded, as Jongin places all the milk cartons where Kyungsoo prefers them to be, as if Kyungsoo has marked X’s on the panels with invisible ink and Jongin can see them. It takes a while for Kyungsoo to break out of his reverie, and he clears his throat and carefully begins to put the greens inside the crisper.  
  
_Stupid._  They look downright stupid, standing side-by-side as they load the fridge in silence. And everything’s being captured on film. How stupid.  
  
“Stupid,” Kyungsoo parrots as he stands up and takes a few steps back.   
  
Jongin chases him with his gaze, the smile on his lips slightly downturning.  
  
“Stupid,” Kyungsoo says again with much force in his voice. “Why are you here, Jongin?”  
  
Jongin slowly closes the lid with a soft  _thunk_. He runs a hand through his hair. “I was hoping you’d have an answer to that.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Do you want us to be together?” Jongin asks, point blank. “Do you, Kyungsoo?”  
  
Kyungsoo freezes, and a low, vulnerable sigh escapes from his mouth before he can stop himself. He turns to stare at the floor in shame, but Jongin isn’t having any of that.  
  
Jongin lunges forward and holds Kyungsoo by the shoulders, making the latter tilt his head up. Jongin’s eyes are a billion suns, and he smashes his lips onto Kyungsoo’s mouth.  
  
It’s a painful kiss at first, with Jongin biting Kyungsoo’s lower lip with such ferocity that it makes Kyungsoo stumble backwards, but it then softens, and turns a little sloppy. Jongin licks at the site where he’s bitten down, and Kyungsoo whimpers. He tugs at Jongin’s bangs, making the young man stop.   
  
“Camera,” Kyungsoo breathes, craning his neck upwards to point at the blinking red light.   
  
Jongin chuckles throatily, shaking his head, and starts to leave hickies along Kyungsoo’s bare neck. “I think the landlady already knew before we did,” he mumbles. His warm breath tickles Kyungsoo’s skin. “But if it makes you uncomfortable…” Jongin pushes him by the flat of his chest until they’re directly underneath the surveillance camera. The back of Kyungsoo’s head hits the wall, and it hurts for a moment, until Jongin places a hand over it.   
  
Jongin kisses him deeply, recklessly, his tongue pressing on Kyungsoo’s teeth.   
  
Kyungsoo finds the end of Jongin’s sweatshirt and tugs it off. He blindly traces planes of Jongin’s abdomen, and the younger man jumps under his touch.   
  
Jongin moans and presses himself closer to Kyungsoo’s body, pinning his right thigh in between Kyungsoo’s legs. “You missed me,” he says with a pleasured laugh.  
  
Kyungsoo succeeds in taking off Jongin’s thin tank top. He growls at the sight of sweat dribbling down Jongin’s chest, and runs his teeth over Jongin’s collarbones.   
  
Jongin laughs even harder. “You really fucking missed me.”  
  
“Stop talking,” Kyungsoo orders, and Jongin is quick to comply. With three fingers, Kyungsoo’s sweater is shed, and Jongin puts his mouth to better us, planting kisses all over Kyungsoo’s bare skin.   
  
Kyungsoo shivers at the cool air, at the warmth of Jongin’s lips, at the heat pooling deep in his gut. Kyungsoo’s hips roll up when Jongin’s hands grasp his ass. Jongin grinds into him in return, and Kyungsoo bites back a groan at the rough denim scraping his crotch.  
  
“My family warned me that you probably don’t want me as much as I want you,” Jongin says. He ruts faster, hitting Kyungsoo in that place where it makes it even harder for the older man to hold back obscenities from leaping out of his mouth. “I used to think so too, since you held onto your end of the truce fairly well.”  
  
Kyungsoo writhes when Jongin’s fingers undo the button of his jeans. His pants only drop to the half-mark of his thighs, but it’s enough access for Jongin to palm him. “Jongin –” Kyungsoo rasps when the man pulls down his underwear and squeezes his cock.  
  
Jongin’s eyes are hard as he grips Kyungsoo’s cock. “You broke our truce, hyung,” he whispers. His pinkie flicks the head, and Kyungsoo bucks into his hand. “When you came to see me at my graduation.”  
  
“Did I?” Kyungsoo says. He shuts his eyes tight as Jongin starts pumping him at an agonizing pace. He claws his fingers into Jongin’s bare forearms.  
  
“Yeah, you did. That stunt you pulled last month is the most hideous thing out there since  _All About Steve_ ,” Jongin says, and his fingers twist around Kyungsoo even tighter, applying so much pressure that something inside Kyungsoo snaps, and he starts fucking Jongin’s hand as he groans. “Our deal’s off. You’re my boyfriend now, starting today.”  
  
Kyungsoo whinnies. He’s seeing stars. “Now?” he gasps. “Jongin, I’m not sure if it’ll work or if I’ll do something really —”  
  
Jongin cuts him off as he meshes their lips again. Passionate, as he pries Kyungsoo’s mouth open and lets his tongue roam and claim every corner, and Kyungsoo’s toes curl. Jongin is headstrong, determined, and so sure in the things Kyungsoo has never been certain of.   
  
“I might have a lot more to lose, but I’m stronger than you think. You won’t break me,” Jongin says. “And even if you do, you should still love me. If I shatter, all the pieces of me will love you all the same. It doesn’t matter.”  
  
Kyungsoo stills.   
  
Jongin nibbles on the flush of Kyungsoo’s bottom lip before he pulls away, heaving.   
  
“It’s not only you. You can break me too,” Kyungsoo says. Jongin’s lips are puffy and red, and so are his cheeks. Something inside Kyungsoo’s chest swirls and swirls. “When you left, I cracked a little.”  
  
Jongin nods minutely. “You finally answered your first question, hyung,” he says, and smiles. He gestures at the brown door of Unit 4. “I heard your heart has an open vacancy, and I’m moving in.”  
  
Then, with a wild intensity that had been piling up for so long, Kyungsoo starts kissing him. Jongin’s fingers stop moving on Kyungsoo’s cock, momentarily distracted. Suddenly, Kyungsoo has him backed up on the opposite wall, right next to the fridge. Jongin’s belt hits the floor with a clang. His jeans drop to his shoes along with his underwear, and Kyungsoo slams his crotch again and again on Jongin’s hard cock.   
  
“Wow,” Jongin croaks out, and his eyes roll back when Kyungsoo starts fisting both their cocks. “Did I just say the magic word?”  
  
“Sorry,” Kyungsoo says with a ragged grin. He eats away Jongin’s loud moans with another kiss, and Kyungsoo’s heart unwinds at the muffled sound.  
  
Jongin comes with a strangled howl, and his knees buckle slightly so that Kyungsoo has to hold him up with his sticky hands. But then, Kyungsoo finds himself being flipped, his backside against the wall now, and Jongin’s crouching low with his face in front of Kyungsoo’s groin.  
  
He licks his lips, and Kyungsoo’s eyes widen when Jongin takes him in.  
  
There’s a strong, almost possessive stroke of the tongue over Kyungsoo’s shaft, and Kyungsoo almost shrieks when Jongin deliberately scrapes his teeth over the skin. Jongin sucks and gives head aggressively, making high-pitched noises when Kyungsoo’s cock rubs against the hard palate of his mouth. Kyungsoo grabs Jongin’s hair and pulls him out just when he comes, and long, streaks of white smear the floor.   
  
Kyungsoo slumps on the wall, and Jongin buries his face on Kyungsoo’s chest.   
  
“God, I missed that,” Jongin mutters, the tips of his ears pink as he clings onto Kyungsoo’s waist. Sweat and cum slick their thighs and legs as they catch their breaths, sated and very much warm.  
  
Kyungsoo’s fingers are still on Jongin’s hair, and he absent-mindedly plays with it. “Is your family okay with this?”  
  
“No, not really. It’s not something they can understand,” Jongin confesses. “But there’re a lot of things they don’t understand about me, like my chicken craze and career choices, so that’s that.” He pecks Kyungsoo’s flushed cheek. “But they agreed to let me move in with you, since, you know, Dad thinks you’re trustworthy enough. I’d sleep through my alarm clock if I was living alone.”  
  
Kyungsoo frowns. “He hasn’t seen my resume. Or lack thereof.”  
  
“Well, you taught me how to cook. It’s probably good enough proof for them.” Jongin moves south and kisses the shell of his throat.  
  
Kyungsoo closes his eyes tightly. “And your job at the publishing house?”  
  
Jongin chuckles. “A little disillusioning,” he says. “They want me to sign a contract to write for young adults. They think I look like someone who should write about teenagers falling hopelessly in love.”  
  
“They’re kinda right, but go quit if they’re not up to your terms,” Kyungsoo replies.   
  
“My editor’s nice, though. She says that my work has potential, and she lets me rant about you whenever we meet up,” Jongin says, and laughs when Kyungsoo gives him a look. “She’s the one who contacted the moving truck for me downstairs.”  
  
Kyungsoo’s throat constricts, and he gulps. “And your… what about your —”  
  
“I hope you’re okay with three poodles in the living room,” Jongin interrupts with a smile. “My sister’s dropping them off tomorrow. They’re sweethearts, and they don’t care who I like.”   
  
“Jongin-ah…”  
  
Jongin nuzzles his neck, and Kyungsoo can make out the angle of his jaw, the soft curve of his smile. “Some people care, hyung. Some people don’t.” He exhales through his mouth. “Like I said, I have a lot to lose, but there’s someone that I’d really give up everything for, if it’s not obvious enough.”  
  
Kyungsoo sighs. “So sappy.” He tugs Jongin’s hair again. “Let’s get cleaned up. I think I’ll have to ask the landlady for the surveillance footage,” he says, pointing at the looming camera.   
  
“Okay.” Jongin hums. “Now that we’re done with your groceries, can you help me move my stuff?”  
  
Kyungsoo allows himself laugh for the first time in a long time, and lets the odd gurgle of emotions fill up the hollow portion in his chest. There’s nothing spectacular with the way Jongin lifts his head up and looks at him, nothing like fireflies circling an evergreen tree, but to Kyungsoo, it means the world.

 

****

  
  
“Nice suit,” Sehun says, once Kyungsoo has entered the pavilion. Sehun looks great, Kyungsoo idly thinks, his long legs looking even longer with his trousers, so Kyungsoo bounces back the compliment to him.  
  
“Nice date,” Sunyoung then says as she joins the two. Kyungsoo realigns his gaze to whom Sunyoung is pointing at, and it seems that she’s referring to Jongin. He’s chatting with all of Baekhyun’s college buddies from Broadcast, his hair gelled back from his forehead. He looks hot.  
  
“Thanks,” Kyungsoo says dryly. “Took me a long time to reel that one in. You don’t have a date, Sunyoung?”  
  
“I don’t need one,” Sunyoung says, flipping her hair, and Sehun snorts in amusement. She grabs the two of them by their wrists. “You two look like dumbasses. Come on, guys. We’re in a wedding!”  
  
Sehun rolls his eyes. “It’s already the reception, noona,” he counters, but he lets himself be hauled to the dance floor.  
  
“Where’s Chanyeol?” Kyungsoo asks in between the heat of drunken bodies pushing up against him at all sides. This is more of a bar scene than a reception. Trust Baekhyun to set up the event in the crudest way imaginable and still get away with it.   
  
From the corner of his eye, he can see Taeyeon’s parents and Baekhyun’s mom conversing somewhat animatedly. They’re probably sharing the most embarrassing stories they have about their kids in their arsenal. They seem to get along. Kyungsoo hopes they are.  
  
It hasn’t registered that it took more than a minute for Sehun to answer his question until he speaks up. “He’s flying to Nashville,” he says. He peers at his watch. “He’s probably boarding already.”  
  
“Oh,” Kyungsoo says lamely. Chanyeol looked tall and debonair a few hours ago inside the church walls with his borrowed suit, and those are the two words that Kyungsoo never really wanted to associate with Park fucking Chanyeol, but still. “Why aren’t you with him?”  
  
Sehun grimaces. “I would be, if only I don’t have a stupid job interview tomorrow.”   
  
“That’s great.” Kyungsoo grins. “Awesome. You’re finally doing some growing up, Sehun-ah —”  
  
“Can I cut in?” A voice from behind Kyungsoo says. He doesn’t have to turn around; he knows who it is.  
  
Sehun gives the man a wry smile. “Go ahead, dude. Hyung’s not even pretending to dance.”  
  
The man laughs, and finally comes into Kyungsoo’s line of vision. “I think I can do something about that,” Jongin says, grinning wide after, and Kyungsoo just —  
  
Jongin laces a strong arm around Kyungsoo’s waist and makes them sway a little. He laughs once more. “Seriously, hyung, you were just standing there. You look really stupid.”  
  
“Came here to save me, huh?” Kyungsoo says. “That’s rich.”  
  
Jongin kisses him, first at the corner of his mouth, before planting a huge and sloppy one on his lips.   
  
It takes a long time for them to break apart. Kyungsoo never thought he’d like making out in public, but it feels… really nice. And it doesn’t hurt too that Jongin looks like he’s about to blast the roof off the place with the utter look of happiness on his face.  
  
“Baekhyun wants fifteen rounds later,” Kyungsoo says as a warning, because Jongin is absolutely giddy right now and there’s no way he can hold up all those drinks in his system. “It’ll be a total bust. We can sneak out, if you want.”  
  
“No way. I’m staying here until you want to leave.”  
  
“I actually want to leave already. My head’s pounding,” Kyungsoo says. The smell of Jongin’s cologne is breaking through the haze of his headache, and that’s good, but he’s sure it can only last for this moment.  
  
Jongin assesses him for a while, and then they’re ducking out of the place after saying a lot of apologies to the newly-weds (“You’re shitting me, Kyungsoo! You only had one fucking champagne!  _One!_ ”). Jongin’s got himself a brand new car, a silver Mazda he bought with the money he earned from the Penguin contract, and he turns on the heater as Kyungsoo buckles his seatbelt.  
  
“Hey, hyung,” Jongin says suddenly once they’re settled in.  
  
Kyungsoo closes his eyes. His head is not swimming, but diving repeatedly in a jar full of sticky tar. “Yeah?”  
  
“I was just thinking… if we’re going to do this the right way, we should go all the way, right?” Jongin says.  
  
There’s a warm hand over Kyungsoo’s, and Kyungsoo jerks his eyes open. Jongin’s watching the whole reception from the windshield.  
  
“Right,” Kyungsoo says, blushing. He nods to himself. “Sure. Let’s do it.”  
  
Jongin turns to him and gives him a soft, happy smile. “Someday,” he promises.  
  
“Someday,” Kyungsoo agrees. They’re not in any hurry, after all.  
  
Jongin sets the gear and drives.


	4. Epilogue

****

 

[Epilogue]

 

  
****

  
  
  
It’s the 27th of May, eleven o’ clock. Jongin’s wrist watch is working this time.  
  
He came empty-handed except for a signed book he dropped inside a small paper bag. Last screening, he brought a bouquet, and Kyungsoo in turn gave him an earful. Snickering at the memory, he looks up at the red and white signage ahead.  
  
The streets are wet from the rain. Jongin’s shoes create miniature splashes as he steps on the tiny oases, crossing the street along with a couple of bikers. London at night is different from New York – it’s more serene than restless. He even hears a cello playing somewhere inside The Ritzy, something the sounds of New York would’ve drowned out. Jongin checks and rechecks his phone to see if he’s got the address right before entering.  
  
The first thing that greets him is the bar, and men and women in a strange mix of suits, casual wear, and long, flowing night gowns. Jongin searches around for a familiar face.  
  
“Hullo, sir,” a girl as tall as him greets, accent thick. She’s wearing a uniform. “You are a guest?”  
  
“Uhh, I bought a ticket,” Jongin says. He rummages the inside flaps of his black tweed coat and hands it over.  
  
The girl rips the end and flashes him a smile. There’s a hint of bubblegum at the slight bulge of her cheek. “Screen 1,” she says. She holds out her arm, pointing directly to her right. There are two cream doors beside a huge poster of Christian Bale’s  _Out of the Furnace_. She clears her throat, and Jongin turns back to her. “The movie’s already started,” she continues. “But you can go in.”  
  
Jongin smiles back at her. “Thanks.”  
  
The red hallway is short and narrow, and Jongin lets out a low whistle when he finds the cinema. The ceiling is high, with the columns billowing to form a crescent dome. It’s almost a full house. There are only two seats left, conveniently at row Q, the last row. He holds back a laugh when Baekhyun’s face appears on the huge screen as he ducks his head, shimmying his way through.  
  
Jongin has already watched the film five times, in five different cities. The first time was in New York City, and Kyungsoo had laughed at how his eyes were all red and worn out when he came out of the theater. The second time in Tulsa, he’d slept through the last quarter, exhausted from writing all night. Third, in San Francisco, and Kyungsoo had gotten so drunk after the awards’ party that Jongin had to hike up twelve flights of stairs with the older man on his shoulder because the elevator wasn’t working. Fourth was in Los Angeles, and Jongin had fucked Kyungsoo raw and open in the bathroom, the golden plaque shining their reflection on top of the marble sinks. The fifth screening was in Chicago, where after awards’ night, Jongin had confessed— again—his undying love for his boyfriend backstage with a dozen, freshly cut roses.   
  
The screen now shows Baekhyun snaking his arms around Sunyoung’s waist. “Trying to change my ways of doing things,” he murmurs. “Are you proud?”  
  
Sunyoung snorts. “Come off it,” she and Jongin say in chorus. Jongin stifles a laugh, and a man sitting beside him gives him a sideward glance.  
  
Jongin stays quiet for the rest of the movie, and soon, the end credits roll. He stands with the rest of the crowd and makes sure that he’s clapping harder than anyone, and the same man is looking at him strangely now when he whoops. Jongin chuckles under his breath.   
  
Kyungsoo and the rest of the crew are on stage, bowing and bowing again. The people from the panel shake their hands, and Jimmy appears from the second row and hugs Sehun. Chanyeol looks a bit miffed.  
  
Jongin slips back to the exit and waits outside of The Ritzy. Kyungsoo’s being swarmed as of the moment, and there are too many people inside, making him feel claustrophobic. He takes shelter under a tree just a few steps away from the establishment and waits.  
  
Kyungsoo comes out with Junmyeon and a balding man with a white goatee. The guy laughs, almost boisterously, patting Kyungsoo on the back as he and Junmyeon bow. Jongin narrows his eyes.   
  
He waits a bit more for Junmyeon and Mr. Goatee to leave for him to come out of the shadows.   
  
“Who was that?” Jongin says. He eyes the older man up and down and grins. Kyungsoo looks ridiculously handsome in his suit.  
  
Kyungsoo’s eyes are wide, but only for a moment. His expression turns rock solid, unamused. “Someone from Sundance.” Jongin throws him a questioning look, and Kyungsoo’s lips lilt. “A film festival, one based here in London.”  
  
“Big shot now, are we?”  
  
Kyungsoo shakes his head. “Not like you, I’m not.” He takes a step closer to Jongin. “How was the book signing?”  
  
Jongin laughs. “Incredible,” he says. “I wish you were there, though. Out of all the four authors, the girls loved me best.”  
  
Kyungsoo snorts, but the smile growing on his face is genuine. The bright lights of Brixton Oval are making Jongin feel all kinds of giddy, or maybe psychedelic, and perhaps that’s why Jongin is encasing Kyungsoo in the biggest, tightest bear hug he’s ever given.   
  
Kyungsoo makes a muffled sound of surprise, before laughing freely. “Those girls are going to get jealous if they see us,” he says. “I’ll come next time, Jongin. For your next signing.”  
  
Jongin bobs his head up and down. He squeezes Kyungsoo one more time before they break apart. “No worries.” He gives him the paper bag. “I already have your signed copy right here. I don’t want you queuing and all just to see my handsome face on print.”  
  
“God, you’re embarrassing,” Kyungsoo mutters, his fingers around the twine. He opens it, ripping the paper bag at the folds. Jongin laughs out loud at this, his breath a fog in the air.  
  
Kyungsoo leafs through the pages, and frowns. “Why is your signature the only one here?” he says. “I thought there were four authors in this.”  
  
“But I thought you only wanted mine.”  
  
Kyungsoo rolls his eyes and pinches Jongin’s lips. He‘d been pouting again. Kyungsoo has always called him out for it, dubbing him an oversized duckling a few times. “Of course I’d want the others,” Kyungsoo says. “It’s a book with four stories from four up-and-coming writers. It’s a Penguin collectible.”  
  
“Fine. I’ll have it signed for you,” Jongin says with feigned annoyance, taking the book and keeping it underneath his coat.   
  
He looks up, and Kyungsoo’s grinning at him. His heart-shaped smile is still the same as it was years ago, back when Jongin was lost and painfully seventeen, and it still succeeds in making his head swim. Jongin’s doodles haven’t done it any justice.  
  
“How long will you be staying here?” Kyungsoo says suddenly.  
  
Jongin thinks about it. “Indefinitely. Until they call me back, I guess. Why?”  
  
“Paris is only a train away from here,” Kyungsoo prompts. His eyes twinkle underneath the lights, and Jongin is breathless. “If you need some inspiration to make a swoon-worthy teen story. There’s Scotland, or Germany. Junmyeon told me Brussels is great at this time of the year.”  
  
Jongin copies Baekhyun’s stance a while ago, in the movie, arms strong around Kyungsoo’s waist. “Did you plan this?”  
  
Kyungsoo flushes. “The plane ride from La Guardia to London City was long,” he admits. “I have some money to spare, and Yuri noona screeched at me when I tried to give it to her, so I thought…”  
  
Jongin leans in and captures Kyungsoo’s lips, chuckling as he kisses the curl of it. “Hyung, I’ll pay. Keep the cash and make another film or something.”  
  
Kyungsoo eyes him severely. “No way in hell.”  
  
Jongin sighs. Here they go again. “Compromise,” he says. “I’ll pay for France, you pay for Brussels.”  
  
Kyungsoo looks up at the stars. “Fine,” he says, finally, eyes soft and warm and completely in love. Jongin goes and kisses him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That’s it for me. Thank you so much for reading!


End file.
